


Shall Never Be Saved By Half

by jibrailis



Series: Sector 3 [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/pseuds/jibrailis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Direction is a superhero team, and Niall and Louis aren't friends, except for the part where they keep falling into bed together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall Never Be Saved By Half

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, for reasons that no longer make sense.

It wouldn’t be so bad, he reckons, if the worms weren’t twelve feet long, wide as a barrel, and oozed a trail of mucus thick and sticky enough to glue your boots to the ground. But they are, and they do, so his final conclusion is: it’s just as bad as you’d think. 

He has a mental checklist in his head. It’s called: the pros and cons of being on a government mandated superhero team, by Niall Horan, age 20.

Pros: protecting people, helping to defend the planet, sweet digs that he’d never be able to afford otherwise, getting to live in London, free swag from sponsors, girls occasionally fainting when they meet him, getting to work side by side with his best mates.

Cons: constant proximity to alien-controlled superbugs, long hours, having to live with his best mates 24/7, never getting to see his family back home, imminent threat of death at all times, and oh yeah, constant proximity to alien-controlled superbugs who are only all too eager to speed up the imminent threat of death at all times bit.

Niall’s pretty chill about most things, but this is where he puts his flag down and fights all the harder, because he refuses to have his gravestone read _here lies Niall, squashed by a big worm_. His poor mam would die of shame.

He’s in bear-form as he lunges down the street and throws himself at the giant worm on his left. He lands with his full bear-weight on it, and pins its midsection to the ground while the worm’s head swivels madly and it thrashes, trying to buck him off. The worm’s larger than he is, but he’s only got to hold it down for so long until — oh there they are, Harry and Liam with their swords, hacking and slicing at the meaty flesh while Louis calls down a bolt of lightning and finishes the whole thing off with a well-placed strike to the worm’s head. 

“Lads, you might want to move a little faster!” Zayn calls. He’s protecting them the whole while with the car-sized metal shield he’s levitated in front of them that takes the brunt of the other three worms’ attacks. But it’s shivering in the air, dented from force, and Zayn looks exhausted.

“Drop!” Louis orders. 

Zayn drops the metal plate with a grunt. Niall knows that’s his cue to leap over the dead worm and barrel towards the next enemy, to do it all over again. All things normal and human-bodied, Louis’ the fastest member of their team, but when Niall’s in animal form, none of them can catch up. 

Well, unless he chooses to shapeshift into a sloth or summat, but he hasn’t yet discovered a useful reason to become a sloth in combat, other than shits and giggles and Louis’ eternal rage. 

The mucus thickens beneath his paws, starts to slow him down. Niall growls and shifts into an eagle, pulling his claws out of the syrupy liquid and flying the rest of the way, turning back into a bear at the last moment as he crashes into the second worm. Behind him, Zayn lowers his metal shield flat to the ground, and Louis, Liam, and Harry leap on. Zayn uses his telekinetic powers to hurl the shield the rest of the distance, until Louis, Liam, and Harry don’t so much reach their enemy as they smack into a nest of angry worms and go tumbling. A worm immediately grabs Harry by the ankle and dangles him mid-air.

“A little more precision, would ya?” Louis says as they watch Harry hanging upside down, flailing.

“Fuck you, you diva,” Zayn shouts back. “You can walk the next time!”

Niall turns into a serpent, dashes up the length of the worm, and squeezes its grip until it lets Harry go. “Thanks!” Harry says cheerfully as he lands on his feet.

There was a time, before Niall’s powers manifested, that he figured at age twenty, he’d be your normal bloke doing normal things. Maybe going to uni, maybe not, but dicking around and having fun. Twenty had seemed an impossibly advanced age to young Niall anyway, as far off as the moon where the war against the Uninvited was being fought, or the streets of London and other metropolises where the Uninvited send their bugs to terrorize humans.

The war’s been going on since Niall was eight, ever since humans made contact with an alien civilization and, two minutes later, accidentally started open conflict. No one really knows what it was that first ambassador did that was so offensive to the Uninvited, but it must’ve been bloody awful because twelve years later, they’re still at it. Fighting on the moon, fighting in space, and fighting on the homefront. It’d all seemed so distant in quiet Mullingar, where no one ever saw a giant worm unless you counted Tommy Kelly’s tapeworm he wouldn’t shut up about in class, but Niall ain’t in Mullingar anymore, is he.

His team takes down another two worms. Louis finishes the last one off by himself, hurling thunderbolts like Zeus. Louis’ powers of weather control are the flashiest on the team, always a delight to watch. The clouds overhead darken and bellow as Louis rains his fury on the last worm. Louis has, it’s to be said, a lot of fury.

Niall is the first one at his side when everything’s settled, bounding up to him in bear-form, checking if he’s alright, that he hasn’t singed himself, but Louis shoves his snout away with an irritated grimace.

“I can’t believe,” Louis says to Liam, “that you think Die Hard 3 is the second best Die Hard film, like what the fuck.” And oh yeah, this is what they were talking about on their way over.

“But it is!” Liam says, kicking at a worm to make sure it’s really down. “I mean, obviously we all know which Die Hard is the _best_ , but three is vastly superior to two.”

Louis flicks a sliver of lightning his way, but Liam, who has the ability to see snippets of the future, steps aside. 

“Only one way to settle this like gentlemen,” Louis says grimly. “Die Hard marathon tonight. No sleep, only vengeance.”

“I kind of do want to sleep,” Zayn says.

“ _No sleep, only vengeance!_ ” Louis shouts. 

“Does anybody have any injuries that need healing?” Harry asks. “No? No? Cos I might have a date that I want to make in, oh,” he checks his watch, but first has to wipe off a patina of worm snot on it, “ten minutes.”

“Too bad your superpower isn’t speed, mate,” Louis says, but Harry’s already trotting off, climbing gingerly over the worm carcasses, the rubble, and the tipped over streetlamps that are a sure sign that somewhere on this avenue in Islington, One Direction was here.

“Is he really gonna show up to his date looking like that?” Zayn wonders out loud.

Niall slopes away to the side and shifts from bear to human again when no one’s paying attention. His body shudders and he stumbles against a wall for balance, hitting his head with a curse. Liam, who notices, or maybe already knew it was going to happen, discreetly tosses him his clothes. Niall fumbles the catch, watching his shirt and jeans fall in a lump at his feet where they’re immediately swallowed up by worm juice.

Louis, who isn’t a seer but always knows whenever Niall’s making bollocks of himself — has a sixth sense for it, like sonar— spies him. “Ten out of ten points for grace, as usual,” he says sleekly, and Niall bites the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. 

There’s a tablecloth on a restaurant patio that wisely vacated when the fighting started. He sees the remnants of someone’s lunch: a club sandwich, a wilted salad, a half-empty glass of sparkling water. He sets the food on the ground and drags the tablecloth off, wrapping it around himself, going through the entire process underneath Louis’ cool, amused stare. Niall doesn’t mind being naked in front of his mates, has been forced to accept it as part of his regular superhero existence, but there’s something about Louis being there that still makes him pause.

There’s no dignity in being a shapeshifter, he thinks, or having Louis judge him as he watches Niall struggle to tie a knot. “Oh, go put him out of his misery,” Louis says. Liam comes over and gently fixes the knot for Niall, apologizing at the same time for his bad toss.

“No worries, Li,” Niall says brightly. “Thanks.”

They radio in for the helicopter to take them back to HQ, aka their ridiculously nice penthouse suite on the Isle of Dogs. As they watch it land, Louis slings his arms around Liam and Zayn’s shoulders, congratulating them on a great fight. “Lads,” he says, “you made me proud today.” He nuzzles his nose against their heads and kisses their cheeks until they push him away goodnaturedly. Niall ends up standing by himself, clutching his stupid tablecloth toga to make sure the force of the helicopter’s whirling blades doesn’t send it whipping off his pasty white arse.

True to his word, Louis starts up a Die Hard marathon after dinner — he bangs a pot up and down the hall and yells at them to get their arses into the den. Niall’s the first to arrive and he takes the spot on the couch beside Louis. Liam and Zayn amble in a few minutes later and sprawl out on the floor with pillows. 

“Niall, switch places with Liam,” Louis says.

“What, why?” 

“Cos I wanna sit beside Liam,” Louis says. Niall and Liam exchange looks, but Niall shrugs and slides to the floor. Liam climbs up onto the couch, where Louis immediately stretches out and puts his head in Liam’s lap. 

“Pet my hair,” Louis orders, and Liam does. Louis makes a content purring noise and his eyes slide shut after he queues up the Blu-ray.

Harry comes in midway through the second Die Hard, declares his date a flop on account of smelling like worms, and shoves Liam and Louis over on the couch to monopolize it. By now Niall’s got his back pressed to the couch, trying to maintain a half-sitting, half-slouching pose. Harry squeezes his knees around Niall’s head gently. “Your head is like a melon,” he says very seriously, “all round and ripe,” and Niall turns around to rest his chin on Harry’s pointy knees and make moony faces at him. Harry smiles until his eyes are nothing but slits.

“Incoming!” Zayn says, and starts tossing popcorn into Niall’s hair. Niall has no choice but to tackle him in response, and Zayn goes down with a shriek like the glass-boned waif that he is, Harry and Liam helpfully kicking him along the way. The only mercy saving Zayn from being black and blue is that Louis’ already asleep, snoring nasally on the end of the couch. 

Liam and Harry proceed to use Louis as a giant pillow as Niall pops in the third Die Hard movie, and by the end of it everyone agrees it’s clearly the second best of the series, and their only recourse is to scribble I’M WRONG in black sharpie on Louis’ forehead and leave him there all night. 

 

:::

 

General Cowell has the tendency to make them debrief their fights by watching any available footage the next day, thereby disproving all of General Cowell’s public claims that, no matter how dire the war, he does not believe in the use of torture. General Cowell also helpfully sends in his notes about what they could do better next time. General Cowell, all in all, is a bit of a dick.

None of them like watching themselves in replay — well, maybe except Harry, who spends a lot of time distracted by his own reflection in hallway mirrors — but Niall thinks he might hate it the most. Watching himself in a fight always makes him want to curl up in his hoodle and pull the strings so that his face barely peeks out, like a turtle. 

He knows he’s a lot better in combat than he used to be. Doesn’t change into the wrong animal nearly as often as he did at the start. Doesn’t let his human-thoughts get fuzzed out by animal-thoughts as much. Can make better decisions under pressure. The training’s been good for him. But high-def aerial video taken from their helicopter highlights all the little mistakes he still makes, that they all make, and Niall hates how tense everyone is sitting around watching it with blank professional faces.

Louis is the oldest, has been team leader from day one, and he finishes reading General Cowell’s notes out loud. “Lance Corporal Tomlinson, Privates Malik, Styles, Payne, and Horan: based on the loci of activity, chances are very high there is a new wormhole in Sector 3,” he says. “Your mission is to find and eliminate it.”

“Reckon we all expected that,” Liam says. “The attacks _have_ all been awfully close together lately, not like they’ve been traveling across the city.”

It happens, often enough, that the superbugs do travel. No one knows how the giant-sized ones do it without being seen. A special form of environmental camouflage developed on their native planet is the current scientific theory. However the method, they can cover a lot of ground from the original space-time wormhole where they popped up. But Niall agrees — there’s been too many, too close, for there not to be a fresh wormhole nearby. He’d bet money on it.

“I’ll get the thermal gear and the Range Rover together,” Zayn says. “We can start searching tomorrow.”

“Do that,” says Louis. “We’ll get Olga in today.”

“That’s right, gents,” Niall whistles, “prepare to die.”

Olga is their personal trainer, a fiftysomething former Russian gold medalist gymnast who looks like someone’s nice aunt in Chanel tweed and pearls. She’s also a crusher of worlds, if by worlds one means the fragile, soft human bodies of One Direction. She’s seen the video even before they have, and sends them working on their weak spots right away in the gym that occupies the floor below their penthouse suite. She makes Harry run laps until he’s gasping, makes Liam stretch parts of his body he didn’t know were actually independently movable, makes Zayn hold planks until Zayn threatens to throw himself out the window.

For Niall and Louis, she laments their pitiful noodly arms, and makes them work on weights, spotting each other. “No cheating!” she tells Niall, as if she knows Niall’s contemplating casually shapeshifting into someone who still looks a lot like Niall Horan, but with better upper body strength. 

Louis’ not so lucky. His face is red like he’s just given birth to a hundred pound baby and now has to lift that baby above his head in victory. Niall tries cheering him on, but then Louis gives him a look like he wants Niall to die, and Niall shuts up.

“Fine, do it however you like,” Niall mutters.

“Don’t need shit from you,” Louis grunts. “Doesn’t matter for _you_ what your real body’s like. You wanna be faster, you can just make yourself faster.” He grunts again as he lifts the bar up with shaking arms. “You wanna be stronger,” he gasps, “you can just _make_ yourself stronger.”

“Thanks, mate, I do know how how shapeshifting works,” Niall says, “and it ain’t like that. You know I can only hold it for x amount of time.”

But Louis’ not finished. “You wanna be better-looking, you can make yourself better-looking,” he says, holding the bar with real effort. “But — not for long, right?” He drops the bar with an oof, and then straightens, looking Niall up and down critically. Niall feels a flush build so deep, he swears it starts at the base of his spine, but he tries to shove that itchy feeling aside.

“Can’t all be beauty queens like you, can we,” he says coolly. 

“Suppose not,” Louis says. “Come on, your turn to suffer.”

Niall takes Louis’ spot on the mats, but by the time he gets going, arms trembling with how much they hurt, Louis’ not even spotting him anymore. He’s watching what’s going on beside them, watching Olga sit on Harry’s back as he does pushups, saying untrue things about puppies that are making Harry cry. 

Niall would complain, but he doesn’t bother, because Louis only has two settings when it comes to people: either he adores you, or he doesn’t give a shit about you. Niall knows which camp he falls into. They’re teammates, sure, they’re friendly and they get along most days, but Louis makes it obvious he thinks Niall rather dull and boring in comparison to the others, and why waste special attention on Niall when he’s got three other lads to lavish his many affections upon. It’s — whatever, Niall’s used to it, he don’t need to be Mister Popularity.

“Louis!” Olga calls out. “Stop getting distracted, remember your partner, and when we’re done, I want you to run 5k on the treadmill.”

Louis pales. By the time Olga releases the rest of them, Louis’ still on the treadmill, sweat plastering his hair to his red, shiny face. “Bye, Tommo!” Liam says sweetly as they head out, and they can hear Louis cursing them all the way down the hall. 

The military springs for their outrageous flat and world-class training, but leaves them to fend for themselves when it comes to food. It’s Zayn’s turn to bring in dinner, and he disappears for half an hour and comes back with two bags of Nando’s in tow. As Niall and Liam are rummaging for proper plates, because they’re superheroes, they’ve _standards_ to live up, even for takeout, Harry comes in reading something off his mobile and smiling from ear-to-ear.

“What’s got you so happy?” Zayn asks.

“Email from Gemma,” Harry says.

“Nice!” crows Niall. “What’s Gems up to lately?” They’ve never met Harry’s sister, she’s been stationed in the war in space for as long as they’ve known Harry, but she sends them gifts on the regular and asks them to watch over her little brother, so she’s practically their family too. Niall goes to sleep every night with Gemma’s moon rocks arranged on his windowsill. 

“You gotta listen to this,” Harry says, scrolling to the middle of the email. “She’s actually _been_ on the Uninvited’s home planet, seen where they train their bugs.”

“ _Badass_ ,” Niall says appreciatively.

“She’s actually seen an Uninvited, _in the flesh._ ”

“Shit,” says Zayn, because the bug soldiers are the only things the people on Earth have seen of their enemies, that and a few blurry photographs of the Uninvited themselves, brief impressions of long torsos and whippet limbs, humanoid but not quite. There was a museum in Dublin when Niall was a kid that claimed to have the body of an Uninvited adult male in its exhibit, a fallen general, and he’d begged Bobby to take him to see it, but it turned out to be a hoax. 

It’s not until Harry’s done reading the email and they’ve all had a proper fawn over Gemma’s amazing and incredibly dangerous adventures that Liam looks up and guiltily remembers they haven’t seen a hair of Louis.

“Probably made Olga angry enough that he’s running laps from here to Mars,” Niall says, but he scoots his chair back. “I’ll go fetch him.” He pads down the hall smelling like hot sauce, popping down to the gym, finding it empty, and then climbing the stairs again to knock at Louis’ bedroom door. When there’s no answer, he twists the knob and barges in.

Louis’ lying starfished on the bed in his ratty underwear, face buried in his pillow as a little raincloud gathers above his head. The rest of his room is, as usual, a perfect wreck, like a crazed artist’s been holing up in it for years, except scratch the artist part. When he hears Niall, he lifts his face, and Louis looks — well, he looks sick, green around the gills and none too good. 

“Uh, Zayn’s got Nando’s in the kitchen,” Niall says, staring at Louis. “I can bring some over if you want?”

“I’d rather,” Louis says, “you fuck off.”

“Alright, your highness,” says Niall, “your wish is my command.” But he makes a trip back with a plate and leaves it at Louis’ door anyway. Louis may be an arse, but no one’s so much of an arse they don’t deserve some peri-peri chicken.

 

:::

 

One Direction started like this: there was the war with the aliens, then there was the conscription, then there was X-Factor. Anybody showing manifestations of mutant power is required, by law, to appear on X-Factor before age twenty-one, where a panel of military judges separate them into squads depending on their skills and temperament. That X-Factor is broadcasted on telly is meant to be a morale booster, to show how, in the war against extraordinary creatures, they’re using the nation’s most extraordinary heroes.

The most extraordinary of the extraordinary, like Gemma, get assigned to the war in space, to the lunar bases. Niall’s never been among that lot and knows it. General Cowell made the decision to put together One Direction with a shapeshifter, a weather manipulator, a healer, a seer, and a telekinetic, and assigned them to homeland defense, because even though most of the heavy duty fighting is in space, there’s enough action on Earth to keep anyone busy. They’re in charge of London Sector 3, which includes most of Islington, Hackney, Tower Hamlets, Newham, Southwark, and Lewisham.

That’s the deal: four years of service and then an honourable discharge, but not everyone makes it to the fourth year. Niall’s been to enough superhero funerals to know this. One Direction, as it currently stands, are little over half their service, and all Niall wants — the only thing he really wants, fuck the posh flat, the nice clothes, the media attention — is for them to make it, to retire old, fat, and happy, and meet every year for reunions on the golf course where they show each other pictures of their kids and complain about their bad backs.

He dreams a lot about that never getting to happen. Niall’s been a fitful sleeper even as a kid, but it’s worsened since he came to London. He dreams, often, about losing his teammates. He dreams, often, about the fights they’ve messed up, about the people who’ve gotten hurt because they didn’t do their job right.

He shuffles to the kitchen after one such dream, and finds Louis already there, pouring himself a cuppa.

Niall’s first instinct is to turn back, he’s not up for dealing with Louis’ rapidly cycling moods right now, but Louis raises his eyebrows and says, in a voice thick with tiredness, “What’s keeping you up then?”

“Same as what’s keeping you up, I reckon.”

“The unbearable weight of my giant prick?” Louis says. “It keeps a lot of people up at night.”

Niall snorts. “Made enough tea for two?”

Louis responds by getting another cup out of the cupboard and pouring for him. It ought to surprise Niall that he does it so willingly, but it doesn’t. Let Louis spin his wheels being twattish, vocal Louis all day, and like a baby who screams out his lungs he’ll run out of energy eventually. He’s softer at night, and there’s only Niall around to talk to anyway. He slides the cup of tea over where it wobbles slightly, catching on some groove on the countertop. Niall’s hands shoot out and save it.

“Gotta protect the tea,” Louis smirks.

“Yeah,” Niall says, “didn’t you hear General Cowell say that?”

“Tea Direction,” Louis says, and then puts his elbows on the counter and leans forward, still smirking. “So, tell me about your bad dreams, little mouse. Maybe you’ll bore both of us back to sleep.”

“Well,” Niall says slowly, since the best way to deflect Louis is to take him seriously, “it started with us standing around a tree.” He goes on to tell Louis the rest of the dream because he’s got nothing to hide from him, knows Louis has the same dreams, they all do. Louis quiets as Niall gets to the part where the walls open up and swallow Liam through, to the darkness and coldness of space. Finally, Louis gets up and pours them more tea.

“You know I’d never let that happen,” Louis says.

“I know,” Niall says. “You’d be the first to throw yourself after Liam and drag him back.”

“I’d never let _any_ of it happen,” Louis says. “Not while I’m team leader. Not while I’ve all of you under my wing — yes, even you, Neil.”

“Wow, thanks,” Niall says, but he knows it’s true. They might not be the best of friends but Louis will never, ever leave anyone on his team behind. Something happened, years ago, with Louis’ family, during an attack on Doncaster. Niall’s never heard the entire story, knows only that no one died, but it damaged Louis. Louis’ eluded to the incident in interviews before, has said, voice tight and eyes cold, that even if he hadn’t been conscripted, he would’ve signed up for the war anyway, would’ve been ready to fight. 

Louis’ eyes are hard with that same intensity right now that means he’s thinking about things that’ve happened in the past, getting his head stuck there. Niall’s not like that. Niall’s more for looking forward. Niall slices Louis out of his stormy mood by saying, “Also, mate, I’ve seen your prick before, the only thing unbearable about it is that it’s as small as the rest of you.”

Louis squawks at him, caught off guard by Niall’s casual insult. He regroups speedily, though, of course he does. It’s Louis. “Seeing as how I’ve literally never seen you bring anyone over,” he says, “I’m gonna assume _your_ prick is not only mouse-sized, but probably diseased and withering with scurvy.”

“Can penises get scurvy?” Niall wonders.

“Everything can get scurvy,” Louis says ominously. “Even scurvy. Scurvy squared. But seriously, what’s up with your dick, does it not work or what? I’m up all night listening to the rest of those lads and their god-awful sex yowling, but you? Never a peep.”

“Well,” Niall says, “that’s probably cos I’m still a virgin.”

Louis spits out his mouthful of tea into Niall’s face. “Gross,” says Niall, wiping it off with a sleeve.

“You’re — what?”

“I’m a virgin,” Niall says patiently. “Don’t you remember that night we all got smashed and I told you? You know I’ve trouble controlling my powers still, you’ve seen the briefings. It’s the worst when I’m, like, in the mood. I’ve tried it a few times, but… well, the therapist says I’ve not matured into them yet. My powers, I mean. Sex, I think I’m ready for.”

“Oh my god,” Louis says faintly.

“What?” Niall says. “I’m not _embarrassed_ about it. Embarrassed that I still can’t control my powers, sure, but not the being a virgin part. It is what it is.”

“I mean,” Louis says, and his voice is so strangled, Niall’s concerned he’s broken him. “When was the last time you tried?”

“Uh,” Niall thinks, “about a year ago? There was that bloke at that club. He had nice hands,” he adds fondly.

“The bloke at the club with the nice hands,” Louis says with that same spacey tone. “So, when do you think you’ll try again?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Niall says, “I think I’ve got it penciled into my moleskine between afternoon tea and a spot of alien-fighting. It’s my two o’clock appointment for cherry popping.” Louis chokes on his tongue. “Jesus, Louis, I _don’t know_ ,” Niall says. “When I find the time, alright? When I find the right person for the job. It’s not like you can just put out an ad for people willing and able to sex up baby shapeshifters, not that Harry hasn’t tried.”

“Sure you can,” Louis says. “It’s called Tinder. Grindr. Whatever gets your crank going.”

Niall shrugs. He’s not one for dating apps. One Direction are public figures and too many people in London can recognize his mug for him to feel comfortable putting his vulnerabilities out there.

“Well, what _about_ Harry?” Louis asks. 

Niall gives him a baffled look. “What about Harry what?”

“Why don’t you just ask him to shag you?” Louis says. “He’s already shagging anything that moves. Might as well do you too.”

“It’s the hair,” Niall says. “I’m worried it’s sentient.”

Louis laughs at that, genuinely laughs, and a warm feeling settles into Niall’s belly, because he doesn’t even remember the last time he made Louis laugh, and it’s a good feeling, a pleasing one. He tries to avoid being the sort of person who wants Louis’ attention, because it’s an easy trap to fall into. When Louis wants to pay attention to you, it’s like standing under the only streetlight on a dark road. It’s much, is all, and Louis has — a really nice laugh.

“I could do it,” Louis says when he stops laughing.

“What?” Niall asks.

“If you’re that hard up.”

“What,” Niall says again, honestly unable to comprehend what Louis just said. 

Louis’ shoulders hunch up around his ears. “Obviously I’m just kidding,” he snaps. “Don’t get your virgin knickers in a twist about it.”

Niall blinks at him to give himself a second longer to process, but there’s a noise, and Harry’s wandering into the kitchen yawning. He ignores both of them and goes straight for the fridge, grabbing the milk and drinking it right from the carton. Niall wrinkles his nose at that because, come on, they’re already in danger of catching every little germ from each other, no one needs to make it worse. Harry burps happily and turns around.

“Hiiii,” he says, “what are you two doing here?”

Louis responds by immediately draping himself over Harry like an amorous squid. He cups Harry’s bollocks and squeezes, Harry continues to smile happily. “Haz,” Louis whines, “beautiful Haz, wonderful Haz, I had a bad dream tonight. You’ll let me sleep in your bed, won’t you? You’ll comfort me in my time of need.”

“Of course, Tommo,” Harry says. “I’m going back to bed right now. Night, Niall.”

“Night,” Niall echoes, and watches them go, Louis with his hands basically glued to Harry’s arse, Harry giggling as they nearly stumble into a wall together. 

 

:::

 

Niall thinks about sex, thinks about it a lot, but then he remembers those times where he’s been in bed with someone he fancies, gotten overwhelmed by how good things were, and accidentally turned into an animal, or in one memorable occasion, his girlfriend’s dad, and it all sort of goes to shit then. 

It’s because his powers manifested so late, his therapist says, right at the cusp of eighteen and X-Factor. Most mutants, they first show signs of powers at puberty, and they have years to learn how to control it. Niall’s not had that luxury. Honestly, if he’d had any of Liam’s precognition powers, he’d have shagged everyone he could before eighteen, back when he was normal, but he hadn’t known then, had thought he’d all the time in the world, was maybe even enough of a romantic to think he was waiting for the right person.

He _is_ controlling his powers better than he used to. He’s been making progress. When he wanks these days and feels that shiver in his body that means his bones are trying to rearrange into someone else’s bones, he’s been able to fight off that sensation. Has been able to come all over his sheets while biting his pillow and holding his powers back. 

He might be able to, now, with another person. But honestly, the superhero schedule’s been grueling enough that he hasn’t been to a bar in ages, isn’t even sure that’s what he wants, for his first time, for the real test.

Niall chews his nails thinking about it as he makes breakfast in the morning. Dinner may be a rotation but breakfast is Niall’s kingdom. He sets out enough food for the whole team, whenever they should happen to stumble into the kitchen — he, Harry, and Liam are early risers, Louis and Zayn are most decidedly not. He makes sure Harry has his herbal tea, Liam has his Special K, and Zayn has his oatmeal with two spoons of brown sugar and no more, because Niall maybe secretly has nutrition plans for all of his teammates, writes painstaking notes into a spreadsheet on his laptop about their health concerns, dinner choices, and dietary needs.

“Thanks, House Mum,” Liam says when he digs into his cereal.

But the truth is, taking care of his lads is something he can control, something he can do right. Routines, nutrition plans, balanced breakfasts in the morning — it puts Niall at peace.

Louis is the last person to lurch into the kitchen. He grunts as Niall hands him his soy smoothie with two pieces of peanut butter toast. Louis, he’s learned, burns through protein like kindling with his powers, needs more of it than any of the other boys. 

“Mornin’,” Niall says, still thinking of what Louis had said last night, still trying to pick out the pieces of it, but Louis doesn’t appear to hear him. He grabs the food and goes to sit beside Zayn. Zayn turns to say something to him, quiet and half-murmured. Louis laughs.

Niall tries to catch Louis’ eye during breakfast, but it’s impossible. Louis and Zayn are as thick as thieves, heads bowed together, talking about gear. He tries to catch Louis’ eye after breakfast when the boys are helping him wash up, but that’s a no go either, Louis’ too busy messing around with Liam, pinching the fabric of Liam’s new coral shirt over his nipples and asking him in mock-seriousness where he bought this particular eyesore. “This is a shirt,” he says, “that’s begging for some Uninvited bug to lay eggs on it and make it home,” while Liam grins and shoves Louis’ shoulders.

Niall tries to catch Louis’ eye when they’re prepping their custom Range Rovers, but by then it’s definitely too hard, everybody’s too busy making sure their thermal readers are working and their computer systems are synced. Liam and Zayn take one of the cars, Harry and Louis the second. Niall closes his eyes and feels his bones crack as he shifts into eagle-form.

“Ready?” Liam asks. He crouches on the ground to attach a tiny thermal reader to Niall’s claws that looks like a ring. He gives it a tug to make sure it doesn’t come off, and then ruffles Niall’s feathers. “You’re good to go, mate.” 

Wormholes emit distinctive thermal readings; the trouble is, they’re often hard to pick up. Like combing a 1000-piece puzzle box for that one piece with the blue sky in the right corner, but this is what they do when they’re not fighting or training for a fight. They look for doors, and they seal them.

They start at home base, covering the Isle of Dogs before moving to Canary Wharf, towards Limehouse. The two Range Rovers move down parallel streets in tandem, with Niall circling above them, catching the muddy morning sunlight on his wings like bathwater. He checks in on the boys every now and then, and it’s a pure muscle thrill to tuck his wings close to his body and dive. He nearly hits Liam and Zayn barreling out of the sky, he’s not quite got the precision down yet, but Zayn catches him through the rolled down window with his powers and tosses Niall into the backseat.

“I’ve the costume mostly ready, man, just waiting for Halloween now,” Zayn’s saying to Liam, while keeping one eye on the screen that’s showing them the thermal signatures of everything they’re passing by. “Gonna wear it to that charity party.”

“Can’t believe you sewed it yourself, that’s sick.”

“It’s a basic adult skill, Leeyum,” Zayn says. “Can’t expect mummy to sew your buttons all the time, can you?” He leans back in the seat with satisfaction. 

“It’s gonna be sick,” Liam repeats. “Ms. Marvel is the greatest fictional superhero.”

“KAMALA KHAN IN THE HOUSE,” Zayn shouts. “Problem is, after sending the photos to my sisters, they want me to make them Halloween costumes too.” Niall in the backseat hears how his voice turns soft — none of them are allowed to see their families until they complete their service.

“If you’re Ms. Marvel,” Liam says, “what if I went as Captain Marvel to the charity party? I could pull off Carol Danvers, right?”

“Yeah, man, you totally should,” Zayn says, and Niall watches them fistbump.

Niall flies out the window when he’s ready. “Bye Nialler!” he hears Liam call out. He flaps his wings, friendly-like, before doing another sweep of the street and then checking in on Harry and Louis, who are not discussing Halloween costumes and are, instead, actively squabbling, probably for good reason because Harry has the wheel and seems unable to drive in a straight line. Other cars are honking at them, and a woman with two kids in her backseat leans out to give him the finger.

“Get out of the car, we’re switching,” Louis says. Harry gives Niall a woeful look, but Niall’s an eagle and eagles don’t take sides.

“Fine,” Harry sighs, and when they stop at a red light, he scrambles off his seat and goes round to the passenger side. Louis does the switch from his end. In the backseat of the car Niall returns to human-form to give himself a break because the longer he stays in animal form, the harder it is to remember not to be. He ends up starkers, but that’s why there’s secret caches of Niall’s clothes in all the cars. He pulls on a giant floppy shirt that goes down to his knees. Bressie bought it for him as a joke. It looks like a muumuu. It might actually be a maternity dress. He loves it.

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse, scratchy, still settling, “any luck?”

“Not yet,” Harry says. “There was a weird reading on South Colonnade, but I think it was a group of mutants together that was fudging it.” Niall nods, accepting that; mutants, funny enough, give off similar patterns to alien wormholes.

“Have a nice fly-around?” Harry asks wistfully. 

“Fuck yeah,” Niall says, stretching. “But that’s why I gotta take breaks, right? Of all the animals it’s the hardest to come back from, birds are number one. It hurts, sometimes, right here,” he smacks his chest, “to remember you can’t fly anymore.”

Harry makes a sympathetic noise. Louis doesn’t say anything, but this time it’s not like he’s too busy to. His lack of answer feels like a deliberate thing, a leaf unsettling the surface of a pond. 

Niall stares at his profile, a bit. It’s a nice profile, he thinks. Harry’s a moppet of curls and sloping cheekbones, and Niall’s, well — Niall doesn’t think he’s much to look at himself, dreadfully ordinary and perfectly serviceable — but Louis is honestly beautiful. Louis’ got fine bone structure that makes Niall think of clockwork, makes him look nearly delicate, except nobody who’s ever seen Louis in a fight would say that. Louis is a creature of blinding speed and lethal grace, even when he’s being a closed-lipped twat.

“I like your hair today, Lou,” Niall says, just to see if he can unnerve him. “Like this whole quiff thing you’ve got going on.” 

Louis’ hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“It _is_ a nice quiff,” Harry agrees. He leans over to sniff it. 

“Oi, this quiff is a no petting zone, trespassers will be shot,” Louis says, and takes one hand off the wheel to spread his fingers across Harry’s face and push him back. Harry laughs and licks Louis’ palm. Louis groans and makes a huge show of wiping his hands on his jeans.

Niall watches them, remembers _I could do it_ , and bites his nails. 

He and Louis used to be closer. That’s the thing that people forget — that even the other lads don’t remember when they tell Niall to ignore Louis’ standoffishness because he’s just like that to some people. Sure, Louis _is_ like that, prickly as industrial sandpaper, but he and Niall used to be — if not friends, then at least something close to it. Back during X-Factor, before One Direction was assembled, they were assigned, week one, as roommates. 

Louis was the first person who ever told Niall that he thought shapeshifters were cool, weren’t weird or uncanny or untrustworthy, or whatever else people think. Nobody had ever said that to him before. His parents love him, he knows that every day of his life, but he’s the first mutant in the family and he also knows that sometimes when Bobby and Maura look at him, they don’t know what to do. He’s not the same boy they remember. He’s changed, been taken away from them, a son but also a mystery.

During X-Factor, he felt known. Louis never made fun of him for missing home so much his hands would shake, or for being overwhelmed by all the tests and competitions the show threw at them while there Niall was, barely even a few months into his powers. Louis was his impossibly cool older roommate, manifested into his powers since he was seven years old, easy and confident and all too willing to crawl into Niall’s bunk at night and show him how to roll a joint to calm down.

None of the contestants were allowed to leave the grounds during X-Factor, but Louis knew how to charm the guards to looking the other way. Niall used to shapeshift into a mouse, and Louis would carry him in the pocket of his hoodie as he snuck out the grounds and scaled the fence. They would never go very far, having no money and no ride — back then Niall wasn’t so good at shifting into larger animals — but they’d lie on the grass outside the X-Factor compound, looking up at the stars, and Louis would make lightning flash overhead like their own private light show.

It hasn’t been like that for a long time, though. Niall glances up to Louis saying, “There’s a cluster. Ross and Lowell.” He u-turns the car around so fast that Harry and Niall smash into the sides like bowling pins.

Harry reaches for and readies his sword. Over in the other car, Niall knows Liam’s doing the same. Harry and Liam have powers that are, technically, more to do with combat support or defense, but they’re never ones to be left out of a fight. Harry’s sword is a sleek katana. Liam’s sword is more like something a knight would carry. None of them use guns for the simple reason that a gunfight on a public street would be a disaster, though they’ve all been trained.

Niall runs a finger along the collar of his shirt, like he’s trying to give himself more room to breathe, and then when Louis brings the Range Rover to a screaming halt, he’s the first one out, turning into a bear mid-stride.

Cluster turns out to be a cluster of giant cockroaches, and by now Niall’s seen so many oversized creepy crawlies he doesn’t even remember to be grossed out by it. He hits the first cockroach with the full force of angry bear, and then Harry’s hacking and slicing behind him. They can smell the scent of char that means Louis’ getting vicious with his lightning, can feel the whip of the wind that Louis summons to blow the barricade cockroaches out of their way.

Liam and Zayn show up; Zayn starts levitating nearby tables and chairs to hammer at the bugs. Liam joins Harry where they go back-to-back, covering each other’s blind spots. 

“Niall, to your right!” Liam shouts, and Niall turns in time to avoid what would have been a nasty blow. Liam’s best at knowing the short-term future, better at predicting what’ll happen in the next few minutes than long range stuff like who you’ll marry and how many babies you’ll have, but it’s a handy skill in a fight. They don’t need his powers as much as they used to, but back when the team were clueless and flailing and poorly trained, it’d been a life-saver, literally.

The cockroaches are well-protected by their shells, but not actually very strong. It becomes an endurance test more than anything else, to keep smashing at them. Up on second floor balconies people are taking photos of the fight, and some are cheering them on. Niall hears his name being shouted as he pummels the cockroaches into mulch. By the time he’s finished his bones hurt, and he’s struggling to hold onto bear-form.

He makes himself last until the very end, when Louis finishes off the final cockroach with an arc of lightning that’s purely for the audience. It’s close, though. The moment they’re done Niall stumbles into a shady spot and collapses back into his human body. Someone gets a photo of him anyway, but that’s nothing new. He’s got more naked pics on the internet than most B-list celebrities.

It’s Louis who tosses him his clothes from the car.

“Alright,” Niall huffs as he quickly pulls on his trousers. “I reckon we deserve some pints after that. Who’s with me?”

“Sounds brilliant,” Liam says even as he plays sadly with the rip in his new coral shirt. Zayn and Harry give weak cheers, they’re both so exhausted. 

“Not in the mood for it,” Louis says. They look at him, and he raises his eyebrows with an imperious arch that only he can really pull off. “Don’t need to celebrate every half-arsed win, do we? Got better things to do than that.”

“No one’s forcing ya to join us,” Niall says mildly. “We can drop you off on our way to the pub.”

“Do that then,” Louis says, eyes narrowed.

Niall’s the one to drive them back. Harry’s in the passenger seat again, waving out the open window at their fans. Louis’ in the back, immersed in his phone. There’s an energy vibrating off him, like he’s tense and angry about something, but who knows what. Getting into Twitter fights with anti-military demonstrators, probably. All of Niall’s attention is kept on the road because he doesn’t get to drive much, needs the practice. 

He twists around in his seat only once, when they’re at a red light, to check on Louis. Louis’ got his head up. He’s staring back, and the moment their eyes meet, Louis flinches, drops his gaze with a scowl, and looks away. 

“Focus on the fucking road, would you?” he says. “When I die, I want it to be in a blaze of glory in battle, not cos you’re a shit driver.”

“Niall’s a great driver,” Harry says loyally.

“Light’s green again,” says Louis. “Move.”

 

:::

 

He still thinks about it, even though he knows he ought to let it be. _I could do it_ can’t mean what Niall thinks it might mean. Louis doesn’t even want to drink at a pub with Niall, he’s not going to want to go to bed with him. It’s stupid. It’s masochistic. 

It’s not even Niall looking out for his own best interests, because Louis is a powder keg waiting to go off, and that ain’t exactly what Niall wants for his first time. He ought to chalk up Louis’ weird off-hand comment to the sort of dumb shite you say when you’re tired at night and your head’s in the wrong space. He ought to stop thinking about it.

He doesn’t.

It pokes his thoughts like a thumbtack. He wakes up, he thinks about it. He does the stretches that help his knee, he thinks about it. He goes for a run before making breakfast for the boys, he thinks about it. He reports to the gym where Olga puts him through his paces, he thinks about it. 

He watches Louis doing pilates on the mats, watching Louis’ hands, the flex of his thighs, the moment when Louis lifts the edge of his sleeveless tank to wipe the sweat off his face, showing off the tattoos on his flat stomach.

Louis catches him staring. “See something you like?” he asks.

Niall’s face burns. Louis laughs softly.

“And what are you two doing?” Olga interrupts. “Having a nice chat?”

“Don’t you know?” Louis turns to her, smiling. “Niall and I are having a secret affair. We’re in love, we just haven’t told you yet.”

“Oh in that case,” she says, “do ten more roll-ups and drink plenty of fluids.” Everyone who overhears laughs. Louis catches Niall’s eye, seemingly by accident, and they glance at each other before Olga moves in front of Louis and blocks him. Niall goes back to the rowing machine. His thoughts hum through his brain like static. 

Olga’s workout is especially rough that day, and coupled with his morning run, the tendons around his bad knee twinge when he climbs off the rowing machine. If he hoped to escape notice, he isn’t successful. Olga catches him before he goes and makes him sit on the bench while she massages his knee and chides him for not telling her right away, his body isn’t meant to be indestructible. He shrugs, mumbling something about not wanting to be a fuss. She slaps him lightly, not a real slap, more like a sharp pat across both cheeks, but it’s still a shock.

“Olga,” he says, widening his eyes, “I don’t think you’re supposed to _beat_ us.”

“Niall,” she says, eyebrows raised in a way that makes her look eerily like Louis, “I know you think you are — what do they say in English? — chill as fuck. But I have already lost two sons in this awful war against the Uninvited. One can bear much, yes? A body will go through life in pain. So why invite more,” she raps her knuckles on his head, “when you do not need to?”

Properly chastened, he agrees to let her know when he needs to dial it back.

Niall knows, of course, that his body isn’t indestructible. Just look at his knee — during their second fight as One Direction, he’d lost control of his eagle-form and fallen from the sky where a giant beetle picked him up while he was still dazed, and crushed his knee between its pincers. Louis and Zayn still have scars from where they’d fought the beetle off Niall, and Niall remembers how ghastly pale Louis had been in the ambulance after, clutching his hand and breathing hard through his nostrils. “You’ll be alright, mate, you’ll be alright,” he’d kept chanting, while Niall tried not to scream through the pain.

That was when he and Louis were still close, still riding their friendship off X-Factor. All the lads crowded Niall’s bed in the hospital when he emerged from surgery, and Harry had cried with guilt that his superpower was supposed to be be healing yet he wasn’t strong enough to save Niall’s knee for him. Niall remembers petting Harry’s hair awkwardly. But even though all the lads were with him, it was Louis who slept in the chair by Niall’s bed for days, who fed him ice chips, who bitched about the hospital food, who changed the channels on the telly so Niall could watch the Masters tournament going on.

His time in the hospital is still pretty fuzzy in his head. They’d given him a lot of pain meds. But he came out of it with a replacement kneecap made of metal — my robot knee, he now says cheerfully to anyone who’ll listen —, months of intense physiotherapy, and a reoccurring dream, so vivid he hasn’t been able to let it go, of Louis, one day while Niall was rambling on in a drug-induced euphoria, climbing onto the hospital bed and kissing him like he couldn’t bear not to.

In reality, outside of Niall’s weird fantasy dream-world, Louis must’ve gotten tired of playing nursemaid, because it was after the hospital that he started distancing himself from Niall, treating him different from the other lads.

Then again, maybe it’s been different on Niall’s end too, because he’s never thought about his other teammates in a sexual way — recognizes they’re fit, sure, they’re some of London’s best catches, but thinking about getting in bed with either Zayn, Harry, or Liam fills Niall with about as much excitement as cleaning out his Nan’s garage. 

Louis, though. He lets himself think about it, really turn the thought over in his head as he limps from the gym back to his room to change out of his sweaty workout clothes. Louis would be impossible in bed, he thinks, bossy and demanding and selfish. He’d make you work for your pleasure, Niall bets, would get a kick out of seeing you sweat for it. It shouldn’t make Niall chub up in his shorts, imagining it, but it does.

He’s only got a few minutes before Louis will start rounding them up for an afternoon of tracking wormholes. Niall bites his lip, sits on the edge of his mattress, and pulls his dick out. Thinking about Louis saying really mean things to him in bed is — kind of worrying, how hot it gets him. His skin starts to shiver, his cells start to rearrange, but he keeps it together, squeezing his eyes shut. He works himself with rough, broad strokes. 

But then somewhere in the middle of all the mean things Louis could say to Niall while they’re fucking, all the things that would make Niall blush and squirm and cry out with want, is that soft, worn dream. Louis kissing him tenderly in the recovery ward, climbing onto the bed, Louis’s hair falling into Niall’s eyes, the bitter taste of their stale hospital-air breath, and it’s that wayward thought that brings Niall over, makes him spill into his hand while he holds back his powers from bubbling to the surface.

Look at it logically, he tells himself while he’s wiping himself down with a flannel. Niall is good at logic, Niall likes facts. The fact is, he’s gotten a lot better at controlling his powers. The fact is, he’s about as ready to go all the way with another person as he’s ever been. The fact is, he knows he’s attracted to Louis, there’s no point deluding himself. 

And him and Louis not being close is probably a _good_ thing, all in all. Because sex can get weird, he knows, even without the surprise shapeshifting element thrown into it. _Feelings_ get involved. Actual touchy-feely emotions. People get hurt. But him and Louis, they’ve already let things sour between them, so it’s not like anything would change if the sex was bad. Or even if it was good. Louis’ not like to fall in love with Niall. Niall’s too smart to fall in love with Louis.

 _Holy shit_ , Niall thinks, _I think I’m actually gonna do it. I’m gonna seduce Louis Tomlinson into popping my cherry_.

Every day Niall fights alien bugs trying to take over the planet and destroy the entirety of human civilization, but it’s good to know he can still surprise himself.

 

:::

 

Liam’s sitting by his side when Niall wakes up in the morning. Liam’s eating a protein bar and studying Niall’s collection of porn mags that he keeps hidden underneath his bed. “I think you’ve got a type, mate,” Liam says, examining the most well-thumbed pages, and Niall groans, burying his face underneath his pillow.

“Sod off,” he says, but Liam merely grins. 

“I was thinking,” Liam says, stuffing the rest of the protein bar into his mouth. He talks as he chews. “What if we sent Christmas cards out this year? As a team? We could have our own One Direction Christmas cards complete with horrible Christmas jumpers.”

“It’s not even Halloween yet,” Niall says. “Too early to think about Christmas.”

“I suppose,” says Liam, who has never had the strongest grasp of time to begin with. Like the rest of them, however, he’s gotten better at managing his powers, doesn’t show up late to everything anymore, confused and scratching his head sheepishly. Niall stares at Liam’s soft, beloved face, and then he rolls over and tackles Liam to the bed. 

“Wanna help me make breakfast?” he asks.

“Yes!” says Liam, like Niall’s promised him world peace instead of half an hour of indentured kitchen servitude, where Niall smacks Liam’s arse with a wooden spoon and squirts his hair with whipped cream.

He knows the morning is going to go tits over arse, even though they’ve all this lovely food prepared, when he can hear Louis and Zayn coming down the hall, arguing. It’s an old argument, one they’ve had so many times before Niall’s lost track, and it never ends well. They turn the corner and appear in the kitchen, and there’s Harry trailing them, looking unhappy and lost, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“—it’s a fucked up system,” Zayn’s saying. “Conscripting all of us, making us fight in this war none of us wanted in the first place.”

“We didn’t start the war, did we?” Louis retorts. “It was the Uninvited that fired the first shot, that blew up the first ship. Are we supposed to lie down as a planet and take it?”

“I’m not saying that some of it isn’t in self-defense,” Zayn says. “I’ve not got amnesia, y’know. _Obviously_ they’re attacking us. But it don’t matter, really, if you believe the war is right or wrong, or who started it. Conscription is a moral wrong, always.”

“And how many people,” Louis says, “do you think would offer to fight if they didn’t have to? This isn’t some skirmish in the sand. It’s a _world war_. It needs a huge amount of soldiers.”

“And how many _soldiers_ ,” Zayn says roughly, “are being conscripted? Oh right! Just us mutants!”

“Cos we’re the ones who can best fight the Uninvited,” Louis snaps. “We’re the ones with the best chance of survival.”

“C’mon, lads, let’s not do this right now,” Niall says.

But Zayn’s got his fists balled and he’s eyes only for Louis, who’s staring back impassively, face blank as Zayn says, “They take us from our families, they take us from our lives, they send us to fucking X-Factor, like it’s some kind of entertainment to watch scared teenagers fight, and they don’t let us go home. You can’t tell me that isn’t fucked up! We’re not _people_ to them,” he says, jabbing upward at the ceiling. “We’re not _soldiers_. We’re just meat. Just fucking meat. I’m sick of it. It’s wrong.”

“Have you ever seen an Uninvited superbug tear apart an entire neighbourhood?” Louis asks coldly. His voice drops low and terrible, and Niall flinches. “Have you ever seen houses ripped from their roots, and people lying on the street, dying, crying out for help, and there’s no help to come because all the ordinary soldiers are dead too? Don’t fucking talk about tragedy, Malik. You don’t know the first fucking thing.”

Zayn pales, but his eyes are hard, his body tense. 

“We made pancakes!” Liam says desperately.

“Pancakes!” Harry cheers, wiggling his arms in the traditional pancake dance of his people.

“You can eat them,” Zayn says. “I’m not in the mood.” He walks off, banging out of the kitchen. Niall exhales sharply. 

“You didn’t have to rile him up like that,” he tells Louis. “You know talking about the system makes him angry.”

“We’re in the system, hard not to talk about it once in a while, innit,” Louis says. His gaze flicks towards the door. “Go see to him then. Make sure he doesn’t do anything daft. He likes you best.”

Not true, Zayn doesn’t play favourites, but Niall goes anyway, finds Zayn on the balcony with a lit cigarette. Morning traffic’s clogging the streets below them, all slow-moving cars, traffic jams, and people trying to get to work. “Brought you a coffee, one cream, two sugars,” Niall offers, handing over the mug. “Coffee and a fag, breakfast of champions.”

“Thanks,” says Zayn, but he’s quiet. Niall knows he’s thinking about his family, his sisters he never gets to see anymore. In a lot of ways Louis and Zayn aren’t so different, Niall thinks, leaning on the railing and breathing in the morning air. They’re both desperate to protect the people they love.

“You’re not even English,” Zayn says.

“Nope,” Niall agrees.

“Don’t you ever get mad,” Zayn asks, “knowing you’re risking your life for a country that ain’t even yours? Just cos Ireland’s got some treaty to send over mutants cos Ireland’s got so many and England’s got so few?”

“Ireland, land of proper freaks,” Niall says with a bit of a smile.

“Come the fuck on, Nialler, you can’t be completely chill with that, being packaged off and exported like you’re some product, not a human being,” Zayn says, frustrated. He runs a hand through his hair, the same hand holding the cig. It’s only the ease of long practice that stops him from catching his hair on fire.

“Well, what other choice is there?” Niall asks. “You can’t quit. They’ll court-martial you.” He looks out at the city. “And it ain’t so bad when you get used to it. I mean, what would I have been doing otherwise? Mucking about, beers at the pub every night, probably getting some poor girl preggers, making trouble that don’t mean anything. At least being a hero, I’m good at that, you know?”

“You _are_ good at it,” Zayn says. 

“So’re you.”

“I hate it,” Zayn says. “I hate every second of it. I don’t wanna fight. I don’t wanna kill things. I wanna be — an artist." His breath shudders. "Someone who makes things that are actually meaningful. That promote peace among species rather than hate. And I wanna go home and see my sisters again.”

“Two more years,” Niall says. “Two more years, then we can all go home.”

“I dunno if I can last that long. Oof,” he says when Niall wraps him up in a hug. “God, you’re bony,” Zayn complains, but he hugs Niall back, careful to keep the cig away from both of them. 

“We love you, Zaynie,” Niall says. “Even Louis. Especially Louis.”

“I know,” Zayn sighs. “That twat.”

“Wanna skip training for today and play video games instead?” Niall asks. 

“Hells yeah.”

Niall finds Louis on the way to the gym, pulls him aside. “Z and I are taking a bit of a break today,” he says. “I think he needs it.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, looking tired, “I reckon so too. Do it. I’ll make your excuses to Olga.”

“Good luck!” Niall says, and Louis flips him the finger as he walks down the hall and pushes through the doors to the gym. Niall heads to Zayn’s room where Zayn’s already set up with his PS4, and they spend a couple of hours screaming at each other in Destiny before Zayn offers Niall a hit of his blunt. Niall breathes it in, lungs filling with lazy smoke. He leans back against Zayn’s bed and stares up at the ceiling where Zayn painted red and black swirls one summer, just to give himself to look at when he goes to sleep. They’re still there.

“Did I tell you,” he says. “I’m gonna seduce Louis.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks from where he’s lying on the bed, controller forgotten. 

“I have a pro/con list,” Niall says. “Wanna hear it?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” Zayn says. “I can see it, though. You and Louis.”

“You think so?”

“Liam says there’s a reason Louis keeps you at a distance,” Zayn muses.

“What does Liam know?” Niall scoffs.

“He _can_ see the future.”

“Fuck,” Niall says, flopping onto the ground. “Liam can see the future. That blows my mind sometimes. But not as much as having sex with Louis. I think it’d be — really good? He already knows about the whole shapeshifting bit, and I don’t care if he laughs.” He folds his hands over his chest serenely. “I’m gonna ride his dick like a Ferrari.”

“Too much information, bro,” Zayn says. 

“I’ve a five-point seduction plan,” Niall confesses happily, and would’ve proceeded to get Zayn’s opinion on the plan because it is brilliant, if he does say so himself, and starts with him walking around without a shirt on, showing off his chest hair. But then it turns out Harry’s off getting kidnapped by giant spiders, so he’ll have to tell Zayn his plan later.

“He was upset when I last saw him!” Liam’s saying about Harry when Niall and Zayn stumble into the kitchen. “Because of the row. You know Harry’s got his head messed up about this stuff too, even if he pretends he’s all fine. So he said he was gonna meet up with Nick after the gym.”

“So he’s probably with Nick then,” Zayn says sleepily. Louis, leaning against the wall, gives him a wary look.

“Check your phone,” Liam snaps, and Niall and Zayn both fish out their mobiles. There’s a text from Harry, sent fifteen minutes ago. _kidnapped by giant spider! don’t worry! xx_ , it says, followed by a set of coordinates.

“Harry,” Niall sighs. Just because Harry’s got mad healing powers and, when it comes to his own body, is virtually indestructible — Niall’s literally seen him regrow his own limbs before — doesn’t mean he needs to be so goddamn flippant about it.

“Harry,” Louis agrees with an expressive eyeroll. Zayn slumps into a chair and puts his forehead on the table.

“Are you two _high_?” Liam asks. “We have to go save Harry. You can’t be high!”

“‘m only a little bit high,” Niall argues. “Can definitely go save Harry. What are we waiting for?”

“For you not to be high, like what the hell, you know we can be called to action any moment,” Liam says in disbelief. Niall hunches his shoulders, starting to feel guilty. Zayn lolls around on his chair, flailing his limbs, which only serves to make the nerve on Liam’s forehead pulse harder. 

It’s Louis who responds, Louis who pushes away from the wall and straightens his spine. “It’s alright, Liam. We’ll call Little Mix for support. Jade’ll sort these two wankers out,” he says. “Let’s go save Harry. All the near-sighted girls in London would never forgive us if we didn’t.”

Little Mix, their neighbours in charge of Sector 4, meet them at the coordinates after Louis phones them in. Jade, who’s a healer like Harry, presses her thumbs to Niall’s temples and whispers, “Equilibrium.” The high leaves Niall’s body so fast he staggers with the rush of it. Zayn does the same, and then stiffens when he sees Perrie rolling her eyes. Because Zayn’s crush on Perrie is the size of multiple astral planes, but they got off on the wrong foot and Zayn's still trying to figure out how to explain to Perrie that he's not a jerk, he's got depths. Niall's rooting for him, buddy.

The spider’s lair is in a warehouse on the docks, and Harry’s hanging upside down and naked in its web when they arrive. “Hiiiii,” he waves. Niall turns into a racing hound and starts running for him. The giant spider appears out of the shadows and shoots out a web that tangles his front legs and trips him up. Louis’ on it immediately, zapping it with electrical shocks while Leigh-Anne summons fire. Jessy, who can shrink or enlarge, makes herself twenty feet tall, bends over, and stomps the spider with her feet.

It’s only the one spider, evidently. It doesn’t take long at all. Niall shakes out of his webbing and cuts Harry out of his in no time.

“Totally didn’t mean to get kidnapped by that spider,” Harry says. “Totally didn’t mean to lose my clothes either! But, y’know, things happen. Thanks for coming, everyone!”

“Anytime, babe,” Perrie says, and Zayn’s face drops into a scowl that makes him look like a cartoon character. Niall wants to laugh, he should just ask her out already, except Louis’ coming up to Zayn and whispering something into his ear. Zayn nods and lets Louis pull him aside. Niall’s torn between taking the piss out of Harry with the others and watching Louis and Zayn. He settles for doing the latter out of the corner of his eye. He knows what Louis’ up to, that he’s checking to make sure Zayn’s okay, that the two of them are good for now. Louis is a protector by nature, and his concern for Zayn’s written all over his face.

Niall sees Zayn brush a hand over Louis’ shoulder, smile slightly. Sees how it makes Louis relax. Something settles into Niall’s ribcage then, something certain.

“Hey,” he says when the rest of the lads are flirting with Little Mix, and it’s Louis and him who’re lingering behind, checking the spider’s body for any clues where it might’ve come from. 

“What?” Louis asks, glancing up.

Instead of the smooth lines he’d rehearsed as part of his five-point plan, what Niall actually says is, “Do you wanna—” He stops. His tongue feels too large for his mouth, like a foreign object.

“Do I wanna…” Louis prompts.

“Remember how you said you’d shag me?” Niall blurts. Louis immediately goes white, which is — not a great sign when you’re trying to proposition someone, but Niall’s too embarrassed now to stop, might as well as plough through to the end. “You said you’d be my first time? If no one else was up for it?” His voices gets higher. “If it weren’t a joke, then, do you… wanna…” he finishes lamely.

There’s no blood left in Louis’ face. He’s a ghost. A handsome, shell-shocked ghost.

“Sure,” he says, “I suppose.”

“Great,” Niall says. “Great, great, great.”

“When do you, um, want to do it then,” Louis says, eyes going everywhere but Niall’s face. “Not today. Today’s been kind of a mess.”

“No, not today,” Niall says quickly, eager for something they can both agree on. “Are you free…” Tomorrow seems too soon, too impatient, might give Louis the wrong idea. “Wednesday,” he says. “What about Wednesday after wormhole-hunting?”

“Can’t,” Louis says. “I’ve a dentist appointment. ‘m free Thursday evening, though.”

“Can’t do Thursday,” Niall says apologetically. “Bressie’s in town. We’re getting drinks together. Friday then?”

“Yeah, okay, Friday,” Louis says.

“It’s a date,” Niall says, and then laughs nervously. “No, wait, obviously it’s not, I dunno why I said that.”

“Obviously,” says Louis.

“Cool.” Niall sticks his hands in his pockets. “See you Friday, then. Or, I’ll definitely see you before Friday cos we live together, but I’ll _see you_ see you Friday. For the, erm, shagging.” What is the point of all the superpowers in the world, he wonders, if he can’t conjure a pit in the earth to crawl into.

But Louis’ laughing at him now, soft and amused. “Friday,” he says, “now carry on, little mouse, I think Harry’s calling your name,” and Niall’s all too eager to saunter off, fake-casually, and agree.

 

:::

 

On Tuesday evenings Niall does laundry, and he figures if he’s going to make a habit of doing his own, he might as well grab some of everybody’s else’s, save them a trip. Tuesdays was always his mam’s laundry day, when she would go around the house and toss Greg and Niall’s socks into the basket she cocked on her hip. Niall’s more like his mam than anybody expects.

“Oi,” he says, popping his head into Harry’s room, “you got anything you want me to toss in the wash?”

Harry’s at his desk working on his laptop with his Beats by Dre on. He smiles when he sees Niall, takes off the headphones. “Got one or two things, I reckon,” he says, sliding off his chair to rummage through a pile of clothes on the floor. He pulls out a couple of compression tights and sniffs at their crotch. Niall recognizes these as Harry’s fight clothes — they’ve all got them, their regular clothes and then the clothes that are comfortable and aerodynamic and won’t slow them down in a fight. Thank god they don’t have to wear actual superhero uniforms, even if public shows an 80% approval for that idea.

“Might as well take the whole pile, love,” Niall says.

“Would you?” Harry asks. “Cos, like, all of it smells like spider jizz now, and it’s grossing me out.” 

Niall holds out his basket, and Harry dumps a mountain of clothes inside. “Alright then?” Niall asks when Harry gets within range. He doesn’t mean the clothes.

“I really didn’t mean to, with the spider,” Harry says. “It was an accident.”

“Nah, we know that.” 

“I just — hate it when they argue.” Harry picks at a thread on his shirt absently, then looks up. “Especially about ethics. I try not to think about it too much, cos even if I got an opinion, what’s the point, it’s not like any of us can change anything. But then Louis and Zayn get so worked up, and you can’t _not_ think about it when they’re shouting in your face and—” He smiles wryly. “Do you think I’m an angry person?”

“No, Haz, I don’t think you’re an angry person,” Niall replies. “Quite the opposite, actually. You’re like the one person on this team I’ve never seen lose their temper.”

“I worry sometimes,” Harry says, “that maybe I’m the angriest of us all, and you don’t think so only cos I’ve gotten so good at hiding it.”

Niall’s mates mean the world to him, they lift him up, they make him stronger, and sometimes they break his heart. At that moment Liam comes through the door, saying brightly, “Thought I heard the Niall laundry express come through, got some stuff for ya.” He pauses. “Oh, what’s wrong?” he asks. “Do we need a cuddle?”

“Yes please,” says Harry, so Liam falls down onto Harry’s bed and bounces around until he’s comfortable.

“Come on then, lads,” he says, spreading his arms, “let’s cuddle.”

Liam is, without a doubt, the best cuddler on the team. He’s warm and strong, and his arms are long enough to reach around both Niall and Harry, who tuck themselves into his sides, even though Harry’s bed really isn’t big enough for the three of them and Niall’s hanging off like a piece of tape. It’s good, though. Liam smells like Irish Springs soap and a faint whiff of cologne. Niall knows he can’t stay for long, he’s got laundry to do and besides, he doesn’t need this as much as Harry does, Harry who’s the baby of the team and sometimes they forget. But he’s glad for it anyway.

“‘m sorry,” he says out loud, directing it at Liam, “for smoking up, for not being ready when you needed me to be.”

“It’s okay,” Liam says. “It threw me off, is all. Sorry for snapping at you.” 

Niall thinks about the anti-anxiety meds Liam takes every day just to dull the edge of his power, of knowing too much and then being scared to know too little. Niall thinks that if he could, he would build a bubble and keep all of his friends inside it, where nothing could hurt them. He can’t build that bubble though, it doesn’t exist. What he can do is swing his legs off the bed, roll onto the floor, and then get up and do laundry.

Harry’s got his eyes shut with his nose buried into Liam’s buzzcut. Liam waves at Niall gently, as not to disturb Harry. “Don’t mind the rain,” he says. “Louis can’t help it.”

Louis is the last door in the hall. Niall, who doesn’t bother with knocking when it comes to the others, knocks on this one. He can hear Louis shuffling around inside, but he doesn’t bother to answer. Niall’s tempted to just skip it and move on, but Louis’ the worst at laundry out of any of them, will prance around in dirty, stinky clothes with no shame whatsoever, and show up at interviews in sleep t-shirts and baggy cargo shorts. Louis’ ninety percent of the reason why General Cowell finally decided One Direction ought to have a stylist for their official appearances. Niall bites the bullet and opens the door.

He finds Louis lying in bed eating leftover Papa John’s pizza, dangling a soggy slice of pepperoni into his mouth as he flips through a footie magazine. He’s in boxer shorts and socks that are old and yellowing, with holes in multiple toes. He’s resting a paper plate with three slices of pizza on his bare chest. 

“Niall?” he asks, confused.

Laundry, is what Niall should say. God but one look around Louis’ room, where there’s barely any floor visible beneath heaps of crap, should confirm that laundry, and maybe some industrial cleaner, should be anyone’s first and immediate priority. Give me all your clothes and let me burn them, should be the second.

Louis’ hair is sticking up all on one side of his head. It makes him look like a bird that got squashed against a window. He’s not telling Niall to fuck off this time. He’s looking at Niall like he’s unsure, hesitant, and Niall didn’t know that Louis’ face could look like that, or that Niall might be the one to make it happen. He didn’t know he had that power. His gut twists, sharp and wistful. He sets the laundry basket down. He closes the door behind him.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks as Niall reaches to remove the plate of food off Louis’ stomach. He doesn’t fight with Niall when he sets it on the ground instead, on top of a sliding pile of Ian Fleming paperbacks. Niall looks at Louis, who’s trying to sit up. Niall pushes him back down onto the bed and straddles his hips.

“‘s not Friday yet,” Louis says.

“I don’t care,” Niall says. “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh look,” Louis mocks, “a gentleman,” but he tilts his chin up, and Niall takes that as a yes. He leans down, curves his spine, feeling the pop of vertebrae at the base, and kisses Louis, hears the catch of Louis’ breath like a radio going out in the middle of a song. Louis’ lips are soft but dry. He tastes, no surprises here, like pizza.

Niall can’t get enough. He leans in for more, stealing tiny little kisses from Louis’ mouth, sipping at him like tea, his fingers clutching the muscle in Louis’ shoulders, until Louis groans. Louis pulls them both up with easy strength, shifting them so that his back is against the headboard and Niall’s resting on his thighs, and Louis’ palm is on the small of Niall’s back, holding him close. 

Kissing is one of Niall’s favourite things to do. He loves it any way he can get it, the sloppy intimacy of it, the slow heat of blood in your veins, the way sometimes it leads to more and sometimes it doesn’t need to at all, honestly Niall’s never been less than happy to spend hours snogging someone that he likes. It ought to feel odd kissing Louis, his teammate, but it doesn’t, it feels easy and familiar, the press of Louis’ body something he instinctively recognizes from fights, from the backseats of too-crowded cars, from parties they’ve gone to, and couches they’ve squeezed upon while watching late-night movies in the den.

He already know what Louis smells like, feels like, and now he’s learning what Louis tastes like, and how he kisses. Slow and sweet, is the answer to the last question, nipping at Niall’s mouth while keeping his hand on his back, a brazen warmth that Niall can feel even through his t-shirt. Louis’ other hand slides up to rest against Niall’s throat, thumb over Niall’s rapidly beating pulse, and ordinarily Niall wouldn’t like that, someone’s hand at his throat a clear sign of danger, but it’s Louis, so he groans and shivers.

He crowds Louis against the headboard, inching up his thighs so that Niall’s sat more or less on top of his dick. He goes in for kiss after kiss, hungry like he’s been waiting for ages. He kisses Louis until they both have to come up, gasping for breath, and then he swoops in and kisses him again.

They kiss until their spines give out, and they slide together from the headboard back onto the bed, Niall going willingly when Louis turns him with his hands on his hips, and they’re lying side by side without breaking the kiss. Niall makes a content noise into Louis’ mouth, curling his fingers into Louis’ bare chest, resting his fingertips on the ink of his tattoos. They snog like that until Niall climbs on top of Louis and kisses him with gravity pressing their cocks together. Then Louis flips them over so that he’s bent over Niall, on all fours, dropping kisses like honey into his mouth while Niall whines and tries to arch up, but Louis won’t let him.

Finally Niall glances at the glowing red numbers on Louis’ alarm clock: they’ve been kissing for over an hour.

“We can do more,” he says, burrowing into the pillows while Louis nibbles at his jaw. “I want to do more.”

“Yeah?” Louis lifts his head. He’s been rather quiet this whole time, and now his voice is hoarse and gravelly. Turned-on, Niall realizes with a shiver. He buries his hands on Louis’ hair and nods quickly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I wanna try tonight.”

“Eager little mouse,” Louis murmurs, and slides his palms up Niall’s shirt. “Well, let me see what I’m getting out of this deal.” He helps Niall peel off his shirt, and then he strokes the bare soft skin of Niall’s belly with his thumbs, watching the way the flush travels down Niall’s throat to his chest. Niall’s not embarrassed about his body, he works a physically demanding job and it shows, but Louis’ slept with some of the most gorgeous people Niall’s ever seen, and he doesn’t want there to be any expectations, like, that he can’t live up to.

But Louis leans in, capturing Niall’s slick, kiss-bitten mouth between his teeth. “Pretty,” he says, and Niall turns even redder. “How’d you wanna do this then? How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Niall says breathlessly. He can feel his power curl under his skin, prowling through his arteries like a waiting sea, but there’s no threat yet it’ll puncture through. “Been thinking. If I say green, it means we’re good to go on. If I say red, it means we need to stop and take a breather. That sound alright?”

“Sounds fine to me,” Louis says, and licks Niall’s nipples. Niall groans, he’d forgotten how sensitive they were. Louis looks up at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Green,” Niall says, so Louis does it again, sucks at Niall’s nipples until Niall’s squirming underneath him, resting his hands on the lovely curve of Louis’ arse. He’s bucking his hips, can’t help it, it’s like he was perfectly content to snog for hours but now that there’s sex on the line his entire body’s alight, shaking with anticipation. 

“Green,” he says when Louis kisses his way down Niall’s chest, following his treasure trail until he gets to the waistband of Niall’s shorts. He tugs them down slowly, and Niall’s cock springs free, fat and flushed with blood, already wet with precome at the tip. Louis looks at Niall’s cock for a while, studying it intently, which makes Niall squirm, whine out a “Louis” between the clench of his teeth, until Louis’ smiling at him slyly in a way that makes his teeth look extra pointy.

“Look at how hard you are already,” Louis says, flicking Niall’s prick with two fingers and watching it bob. “Sproing,” he laughs.

“Don’t make fun,” Niall gasps. “What if you turn me off sex entirely?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Louis says, crawling down the bed until he’s square between Niall’s thighs. Niall spreads them wider to accommodate Louis. “Trust me, Neil,” Louis says with a huff of laughter, “by the time I’m finished deflowering you, you’ll think about it all the time, fucking and being fucked.”

Niall squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Louis to make good on his promise, but nothing happens at first. When he opens his eyes Louis’ still between his thighs, smiling like the world’s worst tease. Niall knocks his knee into Louis’ head, says, “well, get on with it then,” but Louis just smirks at him until Niall remembers. “Green,” he says, “we’re green.”

When Louis wraps his hand around Niall’s prick and gives it a good pull, it’s all Niall can do to keep the roaring in his ears at bay. His power leaps up through his throat, curious, but he grits his teeth to shove it back down. It’s not like he’s never done this part before. He’s had other people touch his dick. But, well, none of those people were Louis with his slender, clever fingers and his bitten-off ragged nails, taking Niall into his hand and pumping him slowly.

“Green,” Niall says, fighting back the itch that’s threatening to overtake him. Louis jerks him off leisurely for a while, until Niall’s cock squeezes out another wad of precome, and Louis’ staring at it, fascinated. He lowers his head to have a lick, and Niall makes a desperate sound.

“Red!” he gasps.

Louis stops. Niall lies there, struggling with himself.

“Green,” he finally says, voice like a trembling thread, “but — take it slow.”

Louis takes it slow. He takes it so slow, tongue flicking out to lick the shiny head of Niall’s cock and then retreating. When Niall says green again, he returns with another lick, and then another, like he’s working on a lolly, with one hand wrapped around the base of Niall’s prick to keep it steady even when Niall’s hips are making tiny jerking motions, unable to keep still. Louis licks at him with the flat of his tongue, working his way up the length of Niall’s cock, and then he follows the vein with rough, kittenish licks, until Niall’s wheezing _red_ and Louis lets him take a break.

When Niall’s ready again, Louis licks out Niall’s slit, which prompts another immediate _red!_ while Niall grabs handfuls of the bedsheet and twists them into his fists. 

It’s torturous going, is what it is, and it can’t be that fun for Louis either, all these starts and stops. But Louis doesn’t kick Niall out of his bed, doesn’t tell him he’s had enough. He keeps on going at it, licking Niall’s overwhelmed cock like he’s being graded on it. It’s all that Niall can handle right now — he thinks that if Louis actually were to put his cock inside his mouth, he might literally die. As it is, Louis’ slutty licking is getting him so close that when he feels orgasm build up in his balls, he clutches at Louis and says, “I’m gonna — fuck, I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you,” Louis says, climbing back up the bed and taking Niall in his arms. He starts jerking Niall off with his hand, brisk and workmanlike. Niall buries his face in Louis’ chest, letting loose helpless whimpers of _green, green, green_ , fighting with his powers every step of the way, trapping them behind the cage of his teeth until his body seizes, and he comes on a guttural groan, fighting, fighting, fighting with his cells not to change.

“You did it,” Louis says when Niall starts to come down, shaking so hard that there’s tears in his eyes. Louis strokes his bare back, runs his fingers through the pool of sweat at the bottom of his spine. “You held it together.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, _Louis_ ,” Niall babbles. “It was — so good. You were so good.” He feels dazed, spaced out with pleasure. He reaches and presses the bulge of Louis’ cock underneath his shorts, his shorts that are already wet because Niall spurted all over him. “I wanna see you,” Niall says. “I want you to—”

“Want me to what?” Louis asks, taking out his cock and giving it a few good strokes.

Niall stares at him and licks his lips. “I want you to come all over me.”

“Fuck,” Louis says, heartfelt. His hand moves faster on his cock, getting himself off rougher than Niall would like, but it seems to be exactly what Louis needs, rough and fast, his arm working like a piston while Niall wriggles to lie underneath him, watching Louis’ flushed face, his sweat-slicked hair, the sheen of oil on his nose. 

“Yeah,” Niall says, “c’mon, please, for me,” and Louis orgasms as if on command, head thrown back, creaming Niall’s chest all the way up to his throat. People are often silly-looking when they come, Niall’s seen enough vids to know, but Louis doesn’t look silly or exaggerated at all. He looks gorgeous and feral, like some high-paid porn star, his muscles corded tight with tension. Niall rests his hands on Louis’ straining thighs as Louis comes and comes, streaking drops of thick white mess over Niall. It lands on his nipples too, which makes him bite back a giggle. When Louis’ done, his arms give out and he collapses on top of Niall, spent.

“Jesus,” he says, and Niall takes a moment to feel proud of himself, for making it good for Louis, for not being an embarrassment in bed. As he and Louis lie there exhausted, sheets a wreck beneath them from where Niall ripped them up with his nails, Niall feels a plop of water hit his face. He thinks it’s sweat at first, but it’s followed by two, three more plops. He looks up at the ceiling and laughs. 

“What’s so funny?” Louis grumbles into his neck, but Niall points up and grins. 

“Look,” he says, because there between the four walls of Louis’ room and the gathering spool of black clouds, it’s starting to rain.

 

:::

 

Louis was right. Now that Niall’s had a taste of it, knows what it could be like, he can’t get enough of sex.

“Niall, you fucking slag,” Louis says when Niall comes to him on Wednesday too, showing up in the middle of the night to climb into bed with him. “Some of us are trying to get some goddamn sleep.”

Niall smiles so that he knows his dimple is showing.

“That’s not nearly as charming as you think it is,” Louis says, but he lets Niall tip his head up for a kiss. Niall’s grinning against his mouth, feeling wild and reckless, like a tornado blowing through town, and Louis’ the only thing keeping him pinned to the earth. They kiss for a long time, and then Niall repays Louis for the previous night by putting a pillow on the floor, getting on his knees, and wrapping his mouth around Louis’ cock.

“Jesus fuck,” Louis says sharply. At first Niall’s alarmed, thinking he did something wrong, but when he peers up at Louis’ face, Louis’ got the queerest expression, pinched and almost in pain.

“Tell me if I’m doing this wrong,” Niall says, mouthing the inside of Louis’ thigh. Louis sucks in another sharp breath and nods.

“Put your lips over your teeth,” he instructs. “Yeah, like that. Go little by little — don’t need you choking on my monster dick right from the get-go.”

Niall pauses to roll his eyes at him. Louis cackles.

Niall does as Louis tells him, and he gets a rhythm going, fitting as much of Louis’ cock into his mouth as he can, letting his saliva run wet and sloppy in the insides of his mouth, so that when he finally pulls off to catch a breath, there’s spit everywhere, and Louis’ making that funny choked breath again. “Is it good?” Niall asks, pushing his hair out of his face.

Louis curls a hand in his hair, brings him up for a dirty kiss. “It’s good,” he says when they pull apart, and Niall’s smiling again.

It’s a real rush to be able to get Louis off, mercurial wildfire Louis who’ll only give you time of day if he thinks you deserve it, whose friendship can be won or lost like a coin toss, a gamble. To be able to get Louis off with his mouth, to have Louis pant underneath him — it’s sort of overwhelming, though Niall tries to keep his cool because Louis don’t need a moony-eyed virgin at his feet, he needs someone who can make him come, and Niall can do that. Niall wants to do that.

On Thursday, it’s Louis who comes to Niall after Niall strolls in pink-cheeked and tipsy from drinks with Bressie. It’s Louis who pins him down to his bed until Niall can barely wriggle his hips. Louis takes him in his mouth then for real, nothing like the playful licks from before, and he sucks Niall off until Niall wheezes _red_. When Louis pulls off, Niall climbs into his lap and snogs him until he’s in a little more control. They do this a couple more times, and by the end of the night he’s coming like a heavyweight boxer’s right hook, sobbing with relief, creaming Louis’ mouth while begging his body not to betray him.

He doesn’t shapeshift, thank god. 

“Look at you, all grown up,” Louis says, wiping come off his lips. 

Niall scowls because he doesn’t need Louis reminding him of his youth and inexperience. Besides, he’s learning, it’s not as if he’s the only person who struggles with his powers during sex sometimes. He ain’t even the only person in the room, not when a particularly good orgasm on Louis’ part will create puffy black rainclouds over their heads. Louis never seemed fussed by it, though, and that helps sets Niall at ease. He follows Louis’ cue and tries not to worry about their powers too much.

During the day, he and Louis don’t act any different around each other. Louis still prefers to sit with the other lads, still goes to them first whenever he’s got something funny or devastating to say. Niall’s this thing that exists on the edge of his awareness, rarely ever front and centre, and that’s exactly what Niall expected, so it doesn’t bother him none. He doesn’t need affection or attention from Louis. It’s not why he started this.

They spend most of their afternoons continuing to patrol Sector 3, scanning for thermal patterns. By now they’ve combed through the sector twice and come up with nothing. 

“Maybe the new wormhole isn’t in our sector,” Zayn says.

“If it’s not ours, then it’s weird cos Sectors 1, 2, and 4 are reporting no unique heat signatures either,” Louis says. “It’s like the whole thing’s gone ghost.”

“That’s possible, innit,” Liam replies. “We still don’t really understand the technology the Uninvited are using to open these wormholes. They could change how they do it, and we wouldn’t know any better, would we.” He rubs his temples and groans. “My visions aren’t telling me nothing.”

Louis bares his teeth in a humourless grin. “Well, we’ve got our marching orders from the general. We’ll keep looking until he tells us not to.”

That night, Friday, Niall groans into a pillow as Louis fingers him from behind, stretching him open with the blunt pressure of his fingers and copious amounts of lube. 

“Shhh, shhh,” Louis murmurs into his neck, sounding amused. “Zayn’s next door and he’s gonna hear you.” But instead of making it easier on Niall, the bastard twists his fingers and makes Niall see stars. Niall lets out a truly heart-rending moan, fuck if Zayn can hear him or not. He pushes back on Louis’ fingers, begging for more.

“You’re so easy for it,” Louis says. 

“m making up for lost time, aren’t I,” Niall groans. 

“Wonder what your fans would say,” Louis muses, thrusting two fingers in and out of Niall. “Sweet, straightforward boy-next-door Niall Horan, always taking care of his teammates. For himself though? He likes it to take it too. Up the arse.” He strokes Niall from the inside, and then squirts even more lube onto his fingers, adding another one in. Niall’s so full, he can’t even speak.

Afterwards, when he comes, he wipes himself off and sneaks out of Louis’ room. He never stays the night, doesn’t think it’d be appropriate, doesn’t think Louis would want him there anyway. Even though it’s a known fact Louis likes to sleep cuddled up beside a warm body, everybody knows Harry or Liam’s his bed partner of choice. Niall’s seen Louis creeping down the hall at night, after shagging Niall, to knock at on Harry’s door. It doesn’t bother him, he thinks. It shouldn’t.

The one time Niall does spend the night in Louis’ bed, it’s Sunday and he’s so exhausted from fighting bugs all day, he blacks out the moment he rolls off Louis. When he wakes, Louis’ alarm clock glows half past three, and Louis’ making sobbing noises in his sleep, scratching at his own arms and struggling to breathe. He hears a name fall from Louis’ lips: Lottie.

“Louis,” Niall whispers, shaking him. “Louis! ‘s just a dream.”

Louis wakes up gasping. His eyes are red-limned and wild, and when they land on Niall, he stiffens. “What the fuck are you still doing here?”

“Soz,” Niall says, “I fell asleep, I didn’t mean to—” 

“Don’t care what you meant to do. Get out,” says Louis, rolling over so that he doesn’t have to look at Niall. Niall hovers there uselessly for a second, and then moves as fast as he can, grabbing his clothes, hands shaking, the door flying shut behind him.

 

:::

 

Of all things, Niall gets taken down on Halloween by a container of cantaloupe salad from Tesco’s. “I didn’t even know you could get food poisoned by cantaloupe,” he says sadly as he buries himself under three blanket layers on the couch, watching the other lads get into their costumes for the charity party upper brass throws every year at General Cowell’s estate. 

The military types throwing the party are no one idea’s of a fun time, but more or less every superhero in London is required to attend, and what always starts out as a stodgy event turns into everyone who’s actually a bit of a laugh sneaking off the estate and meeting up at a bar to start the real party. Last year even Adele joined in on the secret after-party, and Niall had spent most of the night trying not to stalk his favourite superhero like a lost little duckling.

He won’t be stalking Adele this year, he thinks, moaning pitifully on the couch. 

“All I wanted was cantaloupe,” he repeats.

“Actually,” says Harry, “cantaloupe is one of the foods that’s most susceptible to food poisoning. I read that in a Buzzfeed article.” He rubs Niall’s head. “Sorry, mate. Have a nice lie-in?” Harry’s dressed in all black with cut-outs of planets and suns taped over his torso.

“What’re you supposed to be?” Niall asks, eyes narrowed.

“I‘m a black hole!” Harry says.

Liam and Zayn wander into the den as Captain Marvel and Ms. Marvel. They look sick, Niall thinks enviously, whereas Niall looks sick in a totally different and very literal way. Zayn hands him a plastic bag. “For the vom,” he says helpfully.

“Car’s waiting for us downstairs,” Louis says, joining them as Ziggy Stardust in a striped space suit with the flared shoulder pads and the lightning bolt painted across his face. He’s carrying a couple of Blu-rays with him that are presumably not part of his costume. He looks at Niall on the couch and his voice turns singsong. “How’re you feeling? Not gonna die on us, I hope.” 

Things have been a little awkward with Louis since Sunday, though Niall’s tried to show that it doesn’t have to be. It’s not like he’s still upset or anything. 

“I might die,” Niall says. “Of boredom.”

“That’s why I brought you Die Hard 3 and 4,” Louis says, dropping them onto Niall’s chest. “Never got to them during our marathon, did we?”

“Those are the worst Die Hards,” Niall whinges.

“Don’t worry, Nialler, I’ve already seen it in the future,” Liam says. “You’re gonna have an uneventful night with mediocre Die Hards.” The lads laugh as they head out to the car, and Niall throws a Blu-ray at their retreating backs where it bounces off Harry’s head. Harry pauses to shoot him a wounded look, but Niall only scowls. Then his stomach gives another horrid lurch that has him reaching for the plastic bag. Stupid cantaloupe. He doesn’t even feel well enough to dig into the bowl of Halloween sweets Liam put out on the table, and that’s the real tragedy.

After the flat’s creaking empty, Niall turns on the telly. They’re playing Beetlejuice on one of the channels and he watches that with the bag clutched in his hand and one ear tuned to the radio receiver on his lap. Halloween’s usually a night for creepy crawlies, in the enemy alien sense, and if he gets a call it’ll be his job to alert the rest of the team and make them come back.

When the credits for Beetlejuice are rolling, and London’s in no need of saving, Niall’s feeling lonelier and sorrier for himself than ever. He lazes around for a while, flipping through channels, trying to find something else to interest him. When that doesn’t work, he checks Twitter and Snapchat, but the only thing he learns is that everyone’s having a better night than he is. Zayn’s already sent him three snaps of him posing with Perrie, who’s dressed as Harley Quinn. Harry’s sent a snap of an angry swan on the lawn of General Cowell’s estate. Liam sends a snap of the swan chasing a screaming Harry. Niall decides to have a kip instead. Unconsciousness is the best state of living, he thinks.

Then he hears a noise in the hall. It yanks him out of his sleepy state, and he sits up straight, letting the blankets fall off his lap. Someone’s there, approaching the den. Niall slips into mouse-form so that he can dart and hide until he has a chance to better evaluate his options, decide whether he can take this intruder on. But then someone turns the corner, and it’s Louis.

“Oh,” Niall says, shifting back into human. “Didn’t know it was you.” 

“And here I thought you were lounging around naked for my benefit,” Louis says. Niall hurriedly shrugs his clothes back on. 

“I thought you were — at the party?” Niall asks quizzically.

“No shit, Sherlock. You saw me leave for the party, like, an hour ago,” Louis says. He rolls his head around his neck, working out the kinks, and stretches up with a yawn.

“Then why’re you back?” Niall says. “Did you forget something?”

“What, I can’t decide to spend the evening with my favourite cantaloupe invalid?” Louis asks defensively. 

“I just mean you got all dressed up and everything,” Niall says. “You, um, look great. I love the cherry platforms.”

“They hurt my fucking feet,” Louis says. He sits down on the couch and rips them off. “Look, if you want me to leave, that’s no skin off my nose. You’re probably gonna spend the whole evening being a sad sack anyway. You’re kind of a right cunt when you’re sick, y’know.”

Niall cocks his head at him.

“Whatever,” Louis says, standing up with his platforms in hand. “I’m off.”

“No, wait,” Niall says, reaching out to grab his wrist. “Course you can hang out with me, Louis. I was surprised you wanted to, is all. Everyone we know’s gonna be at that party. But look here,” he says. "We got a whole bowl of sweets to ourselves here. That’s the Niall Horan advantage.”

“The Niall Horan advantage better not eat any sweets and get sick all over me,” Louis warns, but he sits back down on the couch. “So what kind of sad sack shit _were_ ya doing?”

“Having a bit of a kip,” Niall admits. “Probably why I didn’t hear you unlock the door.” Louis snorts. “And thinking,” Niall adds.

“Thinkin’ about what?” 

“I didn’t go to Tesco’s just for cantaloupe,” Niall says.

“So this is what I get,” Louis says, spreading his knees and slouching on the couch. “I blow off the biggest party of the year, pass up a chance to drunkenly snog Jessie J, all so I can listen to you narrate your grocery list to me.”

“—I was really going to Tesco’s to buy condoms,” Niall says, “cos I think I’d rather like you to fuck me sometime this week.”

Louis’ mouth opens and closes. Niall grins at him triumphantly.

“You want me to fuck you,” Louis says slowly.

“Is it that much of a surprise?” Niall asks. “I’ve only been shoving me arse in your face every chance I get. Or do you think I drop things and need to bend over _that_ often?” He slides closer to Louis on the couch. “I’m not mad about Sunday. Yeah, I was kind of rattled to be kicked out of your bed like that, but I get it. Nightmares, y’know?” He wriggles his fingers. “The shit we’ve seen. I’d be lying if I said I was never a twat to someone after one of my nightmares. So can we, like, put it past us?”

Louis has a strange expression on his face, but he nods. “Yeah, let’s do that.” 

“I’d kiss you,” Niall says cheerfully, “but I might throw up in your face.”

“Fucking gross,” Louis says, but he smirks and stretches out, resting his ankle against Niall’s. “So did you end up buying the condoms?”

“Wasn’t sure what kind was best, so I got all sorts,” Niall says. “Wait here.” He scrambles off the couch and makes the trip to his room, returning with a box that he tosses on Louis’ lap. “You’ll laugh at these. I got us flavoured condoms too.”

Louis picks up the box, examines it, and stifles a laugh. “Mate, the first time I fuck your arse, it isn’t gonna be with Tesco brand flavoured condoms. You deserve better than that.”

“But Lance Corporal Tomlinson, sir,” Niall whines, “they could be delicious.” He rips open the box, tears a packet, and licks the rubber. “Mmm,” he says, closing his eyes, “strawberry. Or I reckon it could be strawberry? Kind of hard to tell.” He holds out the condom to Louis, who gives him a look like he believes Niall’s the daftest person on earth. Niall continues to dangle the condom in front of Louis’ mouth, though, patient as a stone. Louis finally gives in and licks it.

“That’s nasty,” he says. “Tastes like that powdery shit my mum used to make juice with. It’ll probably give us cancer.”

“Then what do you think this flavour is?” Niall asks. He rips open another packet and stuffs the condom into Louis’ mouth. Louis, quickest reflexes of One Direction, isn’t quite fast enough to scoot off the couch and escape Niall’s experiment. His eyes widen and he chokes.

“Mmmphh,” he says, spitting out the condom. “That’s chocolate or mocha or summat.”

Niall picks up the condom from Louis’ lap and gives it a taste. “Think you’re right,” he says. He starts opening the other packets too, partly because he’s genuinely curious and partly to see the look on Louis’ face, like he’s disgusted and also disgusted at himself for letting this happen on his watch. “You’ve corrupted me,” Niall cackles. “Never used to want to lick condoms before I met you. Now I can’t stop. It’s a sickness.”

“I’m definitely going to hell,” Louis agrees. 

“This one’s mint,” Niall says. “This one isn’t that bad, actually.” But Louis leans over and bats it out of his hand. “Hey,” Niall says sadly, watching it fall on the floor.

“I’m saving you from yourself,” Louis says. “Now c’mon, I left you those Die Hards for a reason. Be a good lad and pop one in.”

They’re wrapping up the last Die Hard when the other lads start coming home one by one. The movie’s cycled from the credits to the main menu, where it keeps on playing the same fifteen-second clip over and over again. Niall’s not sure how long it’s been stuck there because he keeping drifting in and out of sleep, lying comfortable on the couch with his head tucked into the crook of Louis’ shoulder, even with the giant David Bowie shoulder pads. Niall has his knees drawn up, curled into a ball, and Louis keeps touching his robot kneecap, circling the scars and the healed over skin with his thumb while Niall dozes. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.

“Mmm?” Niall stirs. 

Louis repeats the question.

“Nah,” Niall mumbles, “not most days.” He hears a sound in the foyer that’s someone tripping over the umbrella stand in the dark, followed by Zayn cursing. “But that sounds like it hurts.”

“Poor Zayn,” Louis drawls.

“Poor Zayn,” Niall says as they listen to Zayn fumbling about, fighting a truly mighty battle with the umbrella stand that Harry insisted on them getting, because no home is complete without an umbrella stand, he’d said, especially a home with a weather manipulator, which meant it rained at the oddest times.

“But I don’t care enough to get up and help him,” Louis says.

“Oh god no,” Niall says, and goes back to sleep slotted up against Louis where it’s warm.

 

:::

 

Niall Horan, destroyer of butterflies.

If only because the alternative — butterflies, destroyer of Niall Horan — is too grisly to contemplate.

The butterflies pour through the terminal of the London City Airport, a furious golden storm of beating wings. Passengers and staff are shrieking, pushing each other to the ground, trying to get away, while other people are lying paralysed where they fell, their mouths open while they moan in pain. 

Harry’s running around trying to heal them, using his hands to suck out the poison the butterflies are carrying in their antenna. His immunity to these kinds of things protects him, but there’s too many people, and too many butterflies, for him to help everyone. Zayn’s got four metal plates raised around the team sans Harry, caging them in from the swarming assault, while Liam’s tugging on gloves and a mask, hiding every bit of skin that he can.

When Zayn drops the shields, Louis immediately summons up a swirling gale that surrounds them instead, seating them in a column of wind while Zayn puts on his own gloves and mask, pulls down his sleeves as far as he can.

“Ready?” Louis asks, but he’s looking at Niall when he says it.

“Yeah,” says Niall, and the moment Louis kills the wind, he transforms into a rhino. He’s never done a rhino before, and he’s not quite sure he’s got it right — his cells shiver and quake, a step off beat, but he holds onto his misshapen form as hard as he can. Rhinos have thick skin, hard for poison to penetrate. He charges the butterflies straight on, rampaging through the airport terminal while swerving so he doesn’t hurt anyone he don’t mean to.

“There’s a room over here!” Harry shouts. “Let’s herd them in!”

Niall charges the butterfly swarm again, crowding them towards the door Harry’s got open. Louis raises the winds and shoves in the same direction, and it’s a good thing Niall’s a 1,400 pound rhino and can keep his feet planted on the ground. The winds buffet him, sending butterflies swirling by, and then Zayn’s pushing his metal plates forward too, creating an advancing wall. 

They propel as many butterflies as they can into the side room, some sort of lounge for pilots, and then Harry’s slamming the door shut while Louis starts zapping the leftover butterflies individually. Through an open window he weaves long, shimmering strands of lightning and aims them with casual precision — despite the careless flick of his wrist, he doesn’t miss a single one. Outside, the skies are darkening, and they can hear the sound of encroaching thunder. But it stops when Louis stops, when he’s finished killing the last few butterflies. Louis lets his hands fall to his sides, and the skies clear. There’s sunlight through the glass again.

The ambulances have arrived by now, sirens wailing, and they all help the paramedics lift the paralysed people onto stretchers. Harry’s still running around like a madman, trying to heal as many as he can, but Louis grabs his arm. “Stop,” he says, “you’ll burn yourself out.”

“But—”

“Let the hospital take care of it,” Louis says. “They’ve got healers too. You’ve done enough.” He grabs Harry like snatching a kite and pulls him into a loose hug. Harry sags into Louis’ side, closes his eyes. Louis looks up at the rest of them and crooks his mouth. “Pints on me then?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna celebrate every half-arsed victory,” Niall says, pulling on clothes and grinning.

“Oh, this victory was full of arse, Horan, trust me. It was jiggling with arse,” Louis says. “Hup hup, Haz, look alive here.” He pinches Harry’s cheek and Harry moans. 

“What about — the room full of butterflies?” Harry says. “We can’t leave it like that.”

“Sure we can,” Louis says easily. “The General will send a SWAT team to throw some poison canisters into the room or summat. Not our problem anymore, is it? Don’t need superpowers to do that. We contained the enemy, we did our jobs.” He cracks his spine, stretching. “Now there’s a sticky, smelly bar stool out there calling my name.”

It’s true. Whenever Louis picks the place, they always end up at a dive, and it’s no different tonight. Harry faceplants into his pint the moment Liam brings it back from the bar, and they shove him into the deep middle of the booth, let him snore his night away if he needs to. After a few beers Liam starts arguing with Zayn over comic books and the New 52, and Niall wanders over the karaoke machine onstage that’s looking awfully lonely and unused. He punches in a song, waits for it to start up, and then without warning, launches into Aqua’s Barbie Girl, startling the entire bar into silence.

Niall’s not afraid to act like an idiot. That’s the best part of three-beer karaoke. When everyone’s staring, he shakes his booty and stomps around the stage, tossing his head like a horse. He belts the song in the highest falsetto he can reach, pausing to grind his arse against the air, and when he looks over at the tables, the lads are killing themselves laughing, Louis the loudest, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s ever shagged Niall willingly. 

“I can’t believe I’ve ever shagged you willingly,” Louis mouths when Niall slides back into the booth, nearly falling over a pile of Harry. 

Niall grins at him, and, feeling daring, palms Louis underneath the table.

“Christ,” Louis bites out.

“What’s that?” Zayn says, playing with his coaster. He's got a Diet Coke in front of him, no beer.

“Never you mind,” Louis says. “Go get me another drink.”

“Get your own drink,” Zayn says, standing up. “I need to piss.”

“I’ll get you another drink, Louis,” Niall says sweetly, and trails his fingers over Louis’ thigh as he clamours out of the booth, again nearly falling over a pile of Harry. Harry makes a snorting gulping sound in his sleep, like he’s swallowing spiders, and then passes out again.

Louis gives Niall a look full of dark promise. Niall makes sure he’s wriggling his hips all the way up to the bar. He pays for his daring, later, when they get back to the flat and Louis tumbles Niall into his room and pushes him roughly onto the bed. “You think you’re cute, don’t you,” Louis says, climbing over him and biting Niall’s ear. 

Niall shivers, but he can’t hide the smile in his voice. “I _am_ cute, ‘s why I get away with it.” He watches Louis tug his t-shirt over his head and throw it across the room. The moonlight through the window weaves through Louis’ skin, luminous pale except for all those tattoos. “Are you gonna fuck me tonight?” Niall asks, curling his hand around Louis’ thigh.

“Think I will, you brat,” Louis says. He crawls over Niall and slides the flat of his palm beneath Niall’s bum, bringing them flush together. “Think tonight I’m gonna slide my dick in you and pop your sweet little cherry.” He laughs, teeth wolfish in the dark. “Make you a man.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, wanting it, “mmm, Louis, yeah.”

He lifts his chin for a kiss, and Louis gives it to him, kissing Niall with one hand cupped around his arse and the other elbow bent by Niall’s head. Louis smells like sweat and beer and the last traces of his fading deodorant, and Niall can’t get enough. Niall keeps on kissing him, chasing his tongue and trying to pull Louis closer, even when Louis’ basically lying on top of him and filling Niall’s skin with his warmth. Niall’s buzzing with it, with excitement, with nerves.

He arches up, grinds his hips against Louis’, feels powerful when Louis groans. Niall wraps his legs around Louis’ waist and shoves his groin against him, letting Louis feel how hard he is in his trousers. He ruts Louis like an animal until Louis finally rolls over and shoves Niall off him. Niall would feel bad about that, except for the way Louis’ panting, eyes gone dark, hair a right ruin.

It’s a wonder Louis can find anything in his warzone of a room, but Niall scoots up the bed and watches with interest as Louis searches for condoms and lube. They aren’t in the first place Louis thinks to look, which is his nightstand drawer. By the time he’s hanging off the bed searching the boxes beneath, and giving Niall a great view of his lovely round arse, Niall’s already shimmied out of his knickers. When Louis turns around triumphantly, he finds Niall stripped down to his white t-shirt, one hand on his prick, tugging at it leisurely.

“Keen little bugger,” Louis says, but Niall grins at him, lets Louis see how he’s already pearling with precome at the tip. 

Louis crawls between Niall’s legs. Niall spreads to make room. “Lift up for me,” Louis says, and Niall does, sucking in air as Louis coats his fingers with lube and starts circling Niall’s pucker, feeling him out. 

“Not too cold?” Louis asks.

“No,” Niall says, “‘s good, it feels good.” He closes his eyes and evens out his breath as Louis continues to play with his rim, getting the outside messy and wet with lube but never doing more than toying at him with the tips of his fingers, or stroking at Niall’s hole with his calloused thumb. Niall lifts his hips higher, pressing the heels of his feet into the mattress. Louis slips one finger in.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Green,” Niall breathes. He pushes back against Louis’ finger, grinding on it, sinking down on Louis’ knuckle. It feels amazing, he thinks, to be opened up like this. His hole feels like there’s a bundle of nerves at the opening, hot and swollen as it squeezes Louis’ finger, and he wonders if all blokes are so sensitive here or if he’s just lucky. 

He’s lucky no matter what, he thinks, when Louis shifts his position between Niall’s thighs. At first Niall makes a sound of protest, thinking Louis might be about to pull away. But then Louis takes Niall’s cock into his mouth, sucking at him the same time as he’s pushing his finger in and out of Niall’s arse and it’s — mind-blowing. Niall cries out with pleasure.

Louis opens him up like that, finger by finger, scissoring Niall open while he lavishes Niall’s cock with his tongue. A deep itch starts building beneath Niall’s skin, like air pockets forming between his muscles, and he fights to push the pressure down even as his legs tremble helplessly around Louis’ head. “Green,” he manages when Louis glances up at him to reaffirm, beautiful and wicked beneath the fringe of his eyelashes. His lips are all red and puffy from sucking Niall’s cock, and Niall groans at the sight.

Louis pauses to add more lube. He pushes his fingers into Niall until they squelch, and there’s so much lube it’s trickling down the insides of Niall’s thighs, and his hole’s slippery with it, giving barely any resistance as Louis pushes in. “Yeah,” Niall’s saying mindlessly, stretched out between the twin tortures of Louis’ mouth and his fingers, humping both while his toes curl. “Oh god, I want it, _please_.”

“Fuck,” Louis says. There’s a rush of cold air when Louis climbs off him to fetch the condom. Niall, quivering, cups a hand around his bollocks and squeezes them hard, just to centre himself with a bite of pain. He stares as Louis shucks off his pants. He stares at the slope of Louis’ back, at the angle of his clenched shoulders, at the up-and-down bob of his flushed cock. He has a lot of time to stare. Louis’ fumbling with the condom, struggling to get it out of its packet. “Fuck,” he says again, and his hands are shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks. “Is this — um, is this not good?” He was feeling great a moment ago, sexy and slutty and desirable, but Louis’ got this panicked expression on his face now, and Niall’s suddenly worried he’ll bolt. Niall gets on his knees and shuffles over. He plucks the condom from Louis’ clumsy fingers.

“Don’t need your help,” Louis snaps. 

Niall aims a kiss for the corner of Louis’ mouth, isn’t sure he’ll be allowed, but Louis doesn’t shake him off. “Takes two to shag, I reckon,” Niall says. He rips open the condom packet, pinches the tip, and rolls the whole thing down Louis’ prick, bit by bit, hoping he’s doing it right, that he isn’t making it awkward with his inexperience.

“Sproing,” he whispers, flicking at Louis’ cock when it’s done. 

He earns a shaky laugh from Louis, and an admission. “I’m bloody nervous, aren’t I?” Louis says.

Niall wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and pulls him back down onto the sheets. “It’s only me, innit,” he says, rubbing his face over Louis’ like a cat. “No one here you need to impress.” He grabs Louis’ dick and guides it to his rim. 

Louis, brilliant boy, gets the hint. He groans as he pushes in, just a little at first, enough so that Niall’s virgin arse can adjust. Niall bites down on his lip as he takes that first inch of Louis’ cock, as his hole bears down and squeezes around the unfamiliar pressure. Louis’ dick is different from his fingers, bigger obviously and there’s less give. Louis holds himself above Niall as he waits, and Niall runs his fingers through Louis’ rumpled hair, watches the way Louis closes his eyes and shivers.

“Green,” Niall says, and his voice sounds like a stranger’s, strung out and raspy, like he’s been fucking for hours. He didn’t know his own voice could do that, but it must be especially effective because Louis’ hips twitch.

He feeds Niall another inch, and then another. Niall feels his body open around Louis’ cock, and it hurts like shapeshifting but in the best way possible, Louis a welcome warmth between Niall’s legs and inside him. Niall puts his hands on Louis’ arse cheeks, feels him flex. He digs his fingernails into the sweet meat there as he encourages Louis onwards, until Louis’ pushed all the way inside and bottomed out.

They’re both sweating now as if they’ve come off a fight, but this is a fight that Niall’s all too happy to lose. He feels breached, pinned down, conquered, and he grins into Louis’ sweat-matted hair, exults in the first tentative snap of Louis’ hips. “Green,” Niall chants, “green, green, green, oh fuck, yeah,” as Louis starts thrusting into him slowly, setting up a careful rhythm.

Niall doesn’t want careful, wants to be ridden hard and put away wet, but the pressure beneath his skin, the singing of his cells, knows it’s better to be cautious. His body recognizes that it’s been changed, and it wants to change some more, wants to run and jump and fly, but he wrangles it back down to earth, to bed, to the weight of human skin and bones and breath as Louis fucks him.

“Louis,” he says, loose with happiness, “Louis.”

“Niall,” Louis moans, and Niall is relieved that even though Louis’ shagged loads of people before him, brought them back to this very room and this very bed, he must be having an okay time if Niall can make him sound like that.

Louis fucks him like he’s something delicate, something to take his time with. Niall stretches out beneath him and lets himself enjoy the feeling of being taken, cresting shudder after shudder of pleasure. Getting fucked up the arse is the loveliest thing on earth, he thinks, but then Louis shifts his hips, nails his prostate, and Niall’s garbling, “Red, oh god, red.”

Louis freezes, and Niall whines as he fights with his body, with his powers. He sees his hand change where he’s clutching Louis’ shoulder, sees skin turn into scales. But he takes several deep breaths, remembers his training, and it becomes skin again. Louis waits the entire time, breathing hard, his eyes locked on Niall’s.

“Alright there?” he asks.

“I think so,” Niall says. “Green, but um, go slowly.”

Louis thrusts at Niall’s prostate with a series of tiny jerks. Like he’s ringing a doorbell, Niall thinks with a giggle. When Niall manages to keep a hold of himself, Louis goes at it slightly harder. The sound that flies out of Niall’s throat startles them both.

“You like that, don’t you.” Louis sounds smug.

“Might do,” Niall says. “Green, go on.” He chews his lip as Louis starts thrusting harder, still slow and precise but no longer as careful. He nudges his knees into the sharp bones of Louis’ hips and buries his face in Louis’ neck, holding on tight, using the smell of Louis’ skin, the scratch of his stubble, to ground him. Sometimes it gets to be too much, and he has to say red again, and make Louis stop. Louis strokes Niall’s hair each time Niall works to come down, humming in his ear until Niall realizes Louis’ singing Bowie’s Hallo Spaceboy.

“ _Do you like girls or boys_ ,” Louis sings when Niall gives him the green light. “ _It’s confusing these days_ ,” he grins as he pushes into Niall and Niall whimpers. “ _But moondust will cover you—_ ”

“—cover you,” Niall finishes, and kisses Louis’ throat. “‘m gonna come, Lou, I’m, mm, right there, can feel it.”

“Hang on tight,” Louis laughs. He grabs Niall’s arse again with one hand, shoves him up into his thrusts, and forces Niall to ride his cock until Niall’s coming with a sound that’s more like a squeak than he wants to admit, falling headlong into orgasm, into Louis. His fingers become claws on Louis’ back, digging into skin, cutting him, and Niall fights it, fights it so hard he can hear his bones crunch, until tears are gathering in the slits of his eyes with how urgently he’s forcing his body to obey him. His claws retract. He breathes again.

Above him Louis says, “fuck, _Niall_ ,” and piledrives him up the bed with a series of quick, brutal thrusts until Louis tenses, drops his chin to his chest, and comes, mouth open like he’s shocked by it. There’s a distant clash of thunder and the room starts to rain.

It takes time for both of them to come down, for the rain to stop, for Niall to untangle his spindly limbs from Louis and let the poor bloke breathe. “Thanks,” he rasps. “You ought to start a service. Virgin-No-More. You’re brilliant at it.” He winces. “Sorry about your back, though.”

Louis pulls out of Niall, and then, before Niall’s even really had a chance to feel empty, slides two fingers in. “Ngh,” Niall says, as Louis explores him, wet and sloppy. 

“Always aiming to please, that’s me,” Louis smirks. “And my back’s alright,” he adds, removing his fingers and twisting around to poke at himself with his clean hand. “You barely even punctured skin, you weakling.”

“Think I’ll be pretty sore tomorrow,” Niall says thoughtfully. “Wonder what that’ll feel like.” Louis’ eyes go dark at that, but the thought of tomorrow sobers Niall, makes him remember what it is they’re doing. He slides off the bed, shucks off his come-splattered t-shirt, and starts rooting for his knickers. Stops only when he hears Louis clear his throat.

“This bed’s a fucking mess,” Louis says, grimacing at the damp rain and lube. “I’m not sleeping here tonight like an animal cooking in my own juices.”

“Oh,” Niall says. “Do you want to, uh, use my bed then?” 

“I suppose,” Louis says nonchalantly. He ties off the condom and pulls on the hoodie on top of his laundry pile — or what Niall thinks might be Louis’ laundry pile, honestly all the piles of clothes in his room might be deserving of that title. Niall ducks his head first into the hall to make sure none of the other lads are out and about, because the thought of having to answer their dumb nosy questions doesn’t appeal right now. When the coast is clear he putters to his room. Louis grabs his phone and follows him, groping Niall’s arse through his underwear when they get through the door.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Niall says, turning down his comforter. He stares at his sheets, feeling weird. It’s not like they’ve not snogged in this bed before — see: Thursday — but it feels different to have Louis with him when they’ve already done the shagging part. Niall’s never gotten ready for bed with anyone he’s messed around with. Has never had anyone waiting for him after he goes for a wee in his en-suite bathroom, brushes his teeth, and pops in his retainer.

Louis props himself up on the bed by stealing several of Niall’s pillows and starts scrolling through his phone. Niall climbs in beside him and turns off the lamp. It’s supposed to plunge them into darkness, but the glow of Louis’ phone lights up his cheekbones like an eerie jack-o-lantern.

“Go to sleep,” Louis says, “I’ll be done soon.” But when Niall drifts off, feeling lazy and well-fucked, he rouses fifteen minutes later to the sound of Louis’ quiet laughter.

“Wuzzat?” Niall mumbles.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis says. “Funny text from Fizzy. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

The retainer slurs Niall’s words, so he pops it out. “What’s Fizzy up to then?”

“Starting a new school with Lottie,” Louis says. “Seems like they hate it so far, but their bitching’s hysterical. I keep telling them, it doesn’t matter if people don’t like you, plenty of people don’t like me and I do just fine. You can’t make everyone happy.” He snorts. “But same time, the idea of anyone not liking my sisters makes me wanna knock out their teeth.”

“I like you,” Niall says. “Bet I’d like your sisters too.”

“No, you don’t,” Louis laughs. “That’s just the sex talking.”

“I like you,” Niall repeats, but he’s too tired to make an argument out of it. He slots his retainer in and goes back to sleep.

 

:::

 

When the next distress call comes in over the radio, they’re in the helicopter in less than ten minutes. The chopper lifts off from the helipad on the roof of their building, and tilts in the sky towards the chaos. Niall watches the skyline turn crisp with blues and whites. Sometimes it’s a rough ride, because no matter how often One Direction begs, upper brass refuse to let any of them receive pilot training, so the chopper is remote-controlled by someone in General Cowell’s office. It’s not the same, Niall thinks, wincing as the chopper takes an especially sharp turn upon descent. He’s learned not to vom as much though, it doesn’t make for a particularly heroic entrance.

A giant praying mantis, the size of a double-decker, is rambling down the streets of Hackney, off Mare Street. The street’s been completely abandoned, spotted only with a scattershot of parked cars that’ve been crushed, each one, top flattened and folded into strata, by the mantis’ passing. Thank god no one was inside, Niall thinks. St. Augustine’s Tower is down the street, and after their first directive to protect the people, they’ve got to protect the tower too. It’s a bloody historical building. 

There aren’t too many people lingering around anymore. Most have had the good sense to retreat to a safe distance, though he can see a handful of avid faces peering from the windows of Marks & Spencer or the McDonald’s across the church, two buildings that are still too fucking close for comfort. 

_Come on, people_ , Niall wants to say, but he wants to say that pretty much every day, and there’s always gonna be the folk who’d rather raise their phones and film the whole thing for Youtube than to get out of harm’s way. He might even have been one of those people, once. 

The giant praying mantis makes a screaming noise and barrels towards them. Niall didn’t even know praying mantis could make noises, like. Always thought of them more as the silent and deadly type. This one’s certainly deadly, though unfortunately for everyone’s eardrums, not so silent. A green carpet of smaller mantises chase after their leader, and Zayn levitates his metal plates and throws them at the swarm, bringing the plates down flat and crushing as many as he can.

Liam and Harry start hacking at the mega mantis’ legs, weaving around and dodging when it turns to swat at them. Niall shifts into bear-form and joins them, using his teeth to rip at the mantis. It’s bloody fast, he realizes, watching the mantis turn on Liam and start attacking him. Liam defends himself with his sword, and he’s — not fast, per se, but he’s hard to catch off guard. Liam doesn’t know everything, though. One of mantis’ forelegs gets him across the chest and sends him sprawling backwards.

“Cover!” Harry shouts. He rushes over, and Louis gives them cover by drawing the mantis’ attention to him with a series of well-placed strikes to the eyes. The mantis screams, swerving to face Louis, while Harry presses his hands over Liam’s chest.

“Think some ribs got broken, it’s about that time of the year, innit,” Liam jokes weakly. 

“Shut your gob,” Harry says, and closes his eyes as he mends them.

Zayn’s still fending off the regular-sized mantises, so it’s up to Niall and Louis to take on the bigger motherfucker. Louis is raining needles of lightning on sensitive spots — eyes, mandibles, snout — while Niall continues to tear at the mantis’ legs. Bear-form’s the easiest for him to maintain, it’s one of the animals he feels most in-control of, but the mantis is too fast for him, hard to catch between his teeth. So he knits his bones together and groans as he takes on rhino-form. If he can’t be fast enough for a takedown, he can overcome the mantis with brute force.

Brute force means ripped up streets and a marked decline in property values this part of Hackney. Brute force means Zayn’s shouting, “Watch out for the fucking tower, mate!” Brute force means that Niall tucks his head in and rams the mantis with all his strength, sending them both crashing to the pavement where he roars, goring the mantis open with his horn.

The mantis is lying there, ripped apart at his feet, and Niall feels disoriented at his own capacity for violence as he takes human form again. He thinks it’s over — but it’s not. “Shit,” he hears Louis say, and looks up to see five more huge mantises appear at the end of Mare Street.

It’s a saloon standoff, Niall thinks, shivering naked at the cold. Mantises versus One Direction. 

The skies turn proper dark when Louis starts his assault. He’s not holding anything back anymore. The wind picks up to a high-pitched keening shriek. The new mantises start racing towards them. Louis is their first line of defense, he’s got the most range. His arms shake with the effort of holding onto that much electrical current, redirecting it through his body before it arcs out.

One of the mantises goes down, but Niall watches it get back up. Two other mantises scramble by Louis to hit Niall and Zayn full-on, and he barely manages to throw on bear-form at the last moment. “Zayn!” he shouts.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Zayn replies. He’s managed to raise his plate at the final second too. He’s grunting with the effort it takes to shove back at the mantis. Niall changes from bear-form to rhino-form again, and prepares to help Zayn out, but then something strange happens. The air grows thick and syrupy, like he’s seeing it through dirty glasses. The mantises look smeary in his vision. Time… slows.

“Fucking hell,” Liam says, “it’s Adele.”

The queen of the London superheroes walks into the fray in joggers, a pink vest, and hoop earrings. “Hello lads,” she says. “Need a spot of help, then?” Time’s so slow that when one of the mantises turns towards her, they can see its every frame of movement. She merely swats it away.

Harry immediately turns red. So does Liam and Zayn. Louis’ got his face blank, looking unimpressed the way he always does with celebrities, but there’s pink in his ears too. Niall grins. “Could use the help for sure,” he says when he realizes none of his teammates’ voices seem to work anymore. “Thanks for coming!”

Adele gives him a crooked smile. She’s a legend, she is. One of the only known mutants with multiple superpowers, like she decided being able to slow time wasn’t enough and learned super strength and how to turn things into stone just to fuck with everyone’s heads. Niall still remembers seeing her on X-Factor when he was fourteen, hearing Bobby’s surprised murmur that the judges didn’t choose her for a space assignment where most of the best mutants go. But Adele stayed in London, Sector 1, and the city’s been saved multiple times over because of it. The queen practically gave her a knighthood when, after her four years of service were up, she re-enlisted.

With Adele at his side, Niall feels invincible. He doesn’t worry about how he’ll hold onto rhino-form when it weakens. He doesn’t worry about how he might not be fast or strong enough to protect his team, the people in the buildings, the church tower. When Adele slows time, suddenly everything seems manageable. 

Liam and Harry join the fight again, Liam’s ribs no doubt still sore, but bruised ribs are better than broken ones after Harry’s done with them. Zayn starts hammering the mantis with his shields. Louis’s a golden blur of electricity and wind. Niall charges the mantis closest to him, and then laughs when Adele turns herself into a ball of stone and rolls the mantis from the other side. They meet in the middle and make a mantis sandwich.

“Rolling in the deep,” she says with satisfaction, and then goes off to help Harry.

It’s raining relentlessly now, a downpour. Niall holds onto rhino-form for as long as he can, and then shifts into comfortable bear-form. He glances over to see Louis raise a column of wind that lifts him clean off his feet, so that he’s hanging in the air, giving himself a better view of where to aim his bolts. It’s mad impressive, Niall thinks. Louis’ the only other teammate who can make himself fly — or maybe Zayn can, like, use telekinesis on himself, he doesn’t know, he’s never seen Zayn try. But the sight of Louis in the air, a prince of storms in his own tornado phaeton, makes Niall feel something he can’t describe.

“Show-off,” Liam shouts at him. “At least try to pretend it’s for Adele!”

Obviously it’s for Adele, Niall thinks. There’s the clutches of phones whipped out and the promise of Youtube infamy as well, but Louis isn’t one to go for that. “Niall, your left!” he can hear Liam garble a moment later. There’s nothing to Niall’s left except for empty street, but a few moments later a mantis swings at him, right where Liam said he would. Time’s sluggish enough that Niall grasps the offending foreleg between his teeth and chomps down.

He hears a shout from behind him, turns around in time to see a praying mantis take a flying leap like an Olympic high jumper and pull Louis down from the air. Louis is looking the other way and doesn’t see it coming. The wind goes flat. Louis falls.

Niall’s running to him without a second thought. Time speeds up again. He’s snarling, fighting the mantis, shielding Louis with his body. Louis’ gasping from the force of his fall, leg twisted funny beneath him. “Harry,” he says.

Adele hears. “Your mate needs you!” she hollers to Harry, who’s slicing some of the smaller mantises three feet away from her. Harry looks up, sees what’s happened, and starts making his way towards Louis. 

Niall widens his bear-body stance to protect Harry too as Harry drops to his knees and says, “Oh no, broken leg?”

“Need you to kiss it and make it better,” Louis says, and Harry chuckles, ducking his head as he sticks his hands down Louis’ trousers. Louis hisses when Harry’s hands reach skin. Niall fights harder to give them cover, rams a mantis away from them and towards Adele, who tosses it in the air with her strength and then, when it’s collapsed on the ground, turns into a boulder to mow it down.

When it’s over, it’s over. The streets are littered with the carcases of dead mantises, a swathe of green like the day after a St. Paddy’s parade. Niall drops back to human-form like letting go of a tightly held breath, crawling over to where Harry and Louis are. “How’s your leg?” he croaks.

Louis is leaning against Harry in his knickers, maneuvered until he’s practically on Harry’s lap while Harry pats at his exposed leg. It’s not clear to Niall if Harry’s healing him with his powers or has finished and is just providing a friendly massage. 

“I’ll live,” Louis says ruefully, tossing the hair from his eyes. Niall wants to say more, but it doesn’t seem like the right moment. He finds his backpack thrown to the side of the road, and pulls out a change of clothes because it’s cold, still raining, and also Adele doesn’t need to see his bollocks, probably.

“This bloody wormhole, never a day of rest,” Adele says. Zayn and Liam trot after her like puppies. “Any luck finding it? Simon says best guess is it’s in your sector.”

“We think the Uninvited might be learning to hide their heat signatures,” Liam says eagerly, like he wants a pat on the head. “Cos we’ve not been able to pick up anything on patrol.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking too,” she says. “Shit on a fucking crap cracker, eh?”

“Even if we do find this this latest wormhole, there’s only gonna be another one later,” Zayn says. “Again and again and again. And the Uninvited’s tech is only gonna get better. We stomp out their wormholes, they’ll find ways to make them harder to find. We smash their bugs, they’ll breed them smarter.”

“War’s a right nuisance,” Adele agrees. “Well, love to chat but I really need to dash. Got a baby to feed and tickets to the opera to pick up. Anyone here like opera?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “That’s me chopper,” she says cheerfully, pointing at a speck in the distance. “Later, lads.”

“I like opera,” Liam says sadly.

“Oi, Haz,” Louis says, “I need some help getting up — no, put your back into it, you pool noodle.” He’s trying to hobble onto his feet.

“I can help,” Niall says, scurrying over.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” Harry says, waving him aside. “Tommo, I _am_ putting my back into it. Feel that? That’s all back.” Louis looks over Harry’s shoulder, straight at Niall, and rolls his eyes. Niall makes sure to knock their shoulders together when they’re waiting for their helicopter to find a decent place to land. He’s relieved Louis’ alright, even if all the other lads being around makes it hard to say out loud.

Some of the smaller mantises are still scattering about, freewheeling in confusion with their leaders gone. Niall has an idea. He cups one between his hands and carries it to the chopper.

 

:::

 

Niall sneaks into Louis’ room that night, prepared with a surprise, but he stops at the door because someone’s already in Louis’ bed, wrapped around him and asleep. “Oh, never mind,” Niall says.

“What, Harry?” Louis says. “Forget him. We can just shove him over.”

“I’m not shagging you on top of Harry,” Niall replies quite reasonably.

“Shhh,” Louis says, something bright and challenging in his gaze, “he might hear you.”

“Never mind,” Niall repeats. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Be nice to Harry. He’s worked hard today to fix you up.” He gives Louis a dopey little wave, but his fingers don’t seem to cooperate so it looks more like his wrist’s wobbling like one of them bouncy dog-heads people collect. He returns to his room and changes out of the lacey violet panties he’d bought through Amazon Prime on a lark a few days ago, after Louis had made him come so hard he saw undiscovered planets. He looks fairly naff in them anyway, he figures.

He changes into his favourite PJs, the ones his mam sent him in the mail last year, and falls asleep almost the moment his head hits the pillow. His dreams are strange and upsetting. He wakes up at one point in the night because he thinks he hears footsteps stop outside his door, but then they turn and walk away. Or maybe that’s a part of the dream, he’s not certain.

In the morning they gather to watch footage of their fight that the chopper recorded. General Cowell’s got comments for them, as usual. Louis reads them out loud while Niall tries to rub the poor sleep from his eyes. He keeps yawning. 

“Up all night, were we?” Louis asks. He and Harry exchange a look. Harry giggles.

Niall slips away from the rest of the team when they meet Olga at the gym. There’s a training room built into the gym, separated by a door, that’s free of exercise equipment but is where some of them go to work on their powers. There’s heavy things for Zayn to lift and move, there’s skylights for Louis, and there’s a wall of mirrors for Niall so he can watch himself as he shifts.

He shuts the door behind him to give himself some privacy, and googles ‘praying mantis’ on his phone. He starts flipping through the pictures that pop up, chewing on his nails in concentration. This is the hardest part of learning a new animal form, remembering where all the bits and parts ought to go. It’s not that he needs to do it perfectly — at this point Niall’s the master of misshapen animal-forms — but a large part of him likes doing things correctly, and also it might be important for what he’s thinking of.

He spends the next hour practicing mantis-form until he’s shaking with sweat and his limbs feel weak. He stops when he realizes he needs to clear his head or nothing is going to improve. He heads to the gym to grab a bottle of water, and halts to watch Louis and Harry spar each other, hand to hand, while Olga barks instructions at them. Louis pins Harry to the mat and whispers something in his ear that makes Harry burst out laughing.

“Is this kindergarten class or is this elite superhero training?” Olga asks. “Sometimes it is so hard to tell.”

Niall goes back to the training room. When he next emerges he feels weaker than ever, like he needs to have a lie-down but not without popping some paracetamol first. He’s run out of paracetamol in his room but remembers there’s a half-finished bottle in the kitchen from where Zayn left it behind the last time he got one of his infamous Zayn migraines. Niall’s rummaging through the cupboards when Louis comes up to him.

“Hey,” Louis says.

“Hey,” says Niall, blinking through his headache.

“Guess what,” Louis says. “The zoo’s having a new exhibit and I may have won tickets on the radio just for you.” Niall turns around to see Louis’ sharp foxish smile. “Shapeshifters love the zoo, right? It’s like shapeshifter prom. You can see all your favourite animal friends in one place.”

“Not today, Lou,” Niall says, banging the cupboard shut. He could have sworn he last saw Zayn’s paracetamol here but maybe he’s wrong. It irks him to have to give up though. 

“Fine,” Louis says sharply. “You’re not interested? I’ll go with Harry instead.” 

Niall’s headache does not improve upon hearing that. When he finally finds the paracetamol, he takes it dry and goes to lie on his bed and feel sorry for himself. He can hear Louis and Harry in the hallway, talking loudly as they head out to the zoo. Harry’s telling Louis about how much he loves David Attenborough. Louis’ telling Harry his face reminds him of a lemur. Harry seems to take this as a compliment.

Niall sleeps in fits and starts. When he wakes up from his nap the sky's soaking dark with evening, his headache is mostly gone, and he cracks out one last jaw-breaking yawn as he fumbles his way to the den where Liam and Zayn are playing Portal. Liam is doing most of the actual playing while Zayn proceeds to aggressively backseat drive him, shouting out suggestions and, when Liam doesn’t take any of them, a series of mean names impugning Liam’s honour, his looks, and his place in the animal kingdom.

“No offense, Niall,” Zayn adds, as afterthought.

Niall cackles. He plops on the couch beside Zayn and tucks his legs beneath him. “Where’re Louis and Harry?” he asks. “Are they back from the zoo yet?”

“They’re probably snogging in a monkey cage right now,” Liam says, and then shouts as he dies in-game.

“Nah, they aren’t,” Zayn says, “cos the only person Louis wants to snog is—”

Niall tackles him. He’s not told Zayn about the successful conclusion of his plan to lose his virginity to Louis, but judging by the smirk on Zayn’s face, Zayn knows. “You little slag,” he says while Niall tries to tickle his armpits.

“Nialler’s a slag, what?” Liam asks, confused. “When did that happen?”

“Just focus on the fucking game, Payno,” Zayn says. “You’re gonna die again if you don’t watch out for those turrets.”

“I want pizza, does anybody else want pizza?” Niall asks out loud.

“Yes,” Liam and Zayn say at the same time. 

Louis comes home to find the three of them demolishing a set of extra-large pizzas, Portal entirely forgotten. Niall’s lying with his head on Liam’s very firm, very nice stomach, and he’s chewing a piece of mushroom at the same time as he asks, “Where’s Harry? Did you lose him?”

“He went off with a girl at the gift store who sold him a giraffe hat,” Louis says, throwing himself on top of Zayn, who grunts and tries to shove him off. But Louis’ all unforgiving knees and elbows, and Zayn’s also incredibly weak no matter how much pain Olga puts him through, gets away with it because a telekinetic's strength isn't in his arms. He could use his powers to shove Louis off, but he doesn't. Louis nuzzles him affectionately.

“Gimme a slice,” Louis demands. Liam reaches for a slice and tosses it at Louis, but because Liam’s got an armful of Niall, his aim isn’t the best and the pizza hits Louis in the face.

Niall starts laughing.

Louis shrugs. “Can’t waste good pizza,” he says. He scoops the slice off the floor and stuffs it into his mouth.

“You’re gross,” Niall says.

Louis smiles at him with the corner of his mouth. He wolfs down the pizza and then stands up again. “I’m going to bed, lads. Nighty night.”

“Me too,” says Niall. He lifts himself off Liam, who waves sleepily, and he follows Louis down the hall. “Hey,” he says, “are you free?”

“Depends,” Louis replies, but he’s snickering as he opens his bedroom door. “Something I can do for you?” He leans in and the smell of him, slightly stale and sweaty, makes Niall’s belly clench. “An itch I can scratch for you, maybe?” Louis continues in that same falsely sweet tone.

“Oh sod off, you know what I want,” Niall says. “Your big fat knob.”

“Well, maybe if you’d come to the zoo with me, I could’ve been shagging you with my big fat knob hours ago,” Louis says.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Niall says, and starts stripping off his kit once they’re inside. “C’mon, Lou, please. I want it. I want it so bad.” Louis’ eyes widen as Niall gets on his knees and starts fiddling with the zip on Louis’ jeans.

“Christ, you’re so thirsty for it,” Louis says wonderingly, running a hand through Niall’s hair. Niall makes a sound of agreement because he is, been thirsty for it ever since he went to Louis’ room last night and was turned away.

“Missed you,” he says, whispers the confession against the inside of Louis’ thigh. He’s not sure Louis heard him or not, but he feels Louis shiver. 

He takes Louis into his throat until he feels Louis’ crinkly pubic hairs pressed up against his nose, and even that’s wonderful. Louis smells so good here, so deep and musky, and it makes Niall wild for it. He sucks Louis off until Louis’ belly is shaking with tension, and then he pushes Louis onto the bed, and makes Louis watch as he shimmies out of his briefs, finds the lube on the nightstand, and starts prepping himself open.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just do that — fuuuck.”

“You can look at me,” Niall says. “I — I like it.”

“Fuck,” Louis says again, but he opens his eyes and stares as Niall starts opening himself up. He’s not done this himself before. Louis’ taken care of it the last few times they did this, but it’s worth it, this time, to see the look on Louis’ face as he’s forced to watch, helpless and turned on. Niall doesn’t let Louis touch him, bats his hands away when Louis tries. He makes Louis watch until Niall’s open and wet, soaking with lube and moaning as he fucks himself on his fingers.

Louis is so hard now, it must be painful. Niall takes pity on him and wraps a hand around Louis’ cock. The sound Louis makes then — Niall’s sure he’ll be hearing that in his wet dreams for the rest of his life. But then Louis makes another, better sound when Niall climbs onto him and starts sinking down on his cock. Niall is entranced by Louis’ noises, sets out to wring as many out of him as he can.

He rides Louis until Louis’ fighting a battle behind clenched teeth not to come. Louis’ so beautiful like this, Niall thinks, and he stares at him, drinking in his every reaction, every groan, every buck of Louis’ hips. “Yeah, mm,” Niall says, “do that again,” and he bares his throat as Louis digs his heels into the mattress and starts fucking up into him. He hits that spot that makes Niall felt like he’s about to shake out of his own skin, and suddenly it’s Niall who’s struggling to hold onto control, breathing out little “ah, ah, ahs” every time Louis slams into him.

It’s Louis who comes first, though, Louis who’s been holding out the longest. Louis fills up the condom inside Niall, and then before Niall can regain control of his floppy limbs, Louis flips him over and crawls between his thighs. The first touch of his mouth on Niall’s sore, wet hole makes Niall moan.

“Green?” Louis asks.

“Green, definitely green,” Niall babbles. “I’ve gotten brilliant at this whole controlling my powers during sex thing, wouldn’t you say? I’m a sex master.” Louis licks his arse in response. Niall stares up at the ceiling with his fists pressed to his mouth as Louis eats him out, and Niall comes with a wail on Louis’ tongue.

He sleeps that night curled up into Louis’ side, his knees pressing into the warmth of Louis’ ribs. He dreams, and in his dream he’s in the kitchen with Louis. It’s that night they first talked about this, when Niall told Louis he was a virgin and Louis said, _I could do it_. Louis is pouring him tea. Which really did happen, but in the dream whenever Niall finishes a cuppa, Louis pours him another one. Niall keeps drinking, Louis keeps bringing him more cups of tea. 

But then Niall can’t drink anymore, he’s fit to bursting, and he starts pouring the tea out when Louis isn’t looking. Except Louis keeps bringing him more cups, more cups, and more cups, faster than Niall can get rid of them. Until the entire counter is covered in them, and when Niall looks down, there’s a praying mantis curled inside each one on the bottom.

His dream turns sour. He dreams about ruined cities and gutted open bugs. He dreams about killing things. He dreams about helicopters crashing. He dreams of houses on fire. He dreams of his da reaching out to him and saying, “Niall, stop,” and Niall turns into a mantis and can’t change back. He dreams of being in that hospital bed with a crushed knee, and Louis’ on top of him, kissing him until the sheets are wet with blood.

Someone’s shaking him awake. It’s Louis.

“Niall, Niall, _Niall_. You’re dreaming,” he says, peering at Niall in the dark. Niall buries his face into Louis’ chest.

“I know,” he says.

They’re both quiet for a long time. Louis strokes Niall’s hair and slides back into sleep. Niall listens to the slow, even sound of his breathing. He tries to get his own to match, but it’s too hard. His headache starts creeping back. His eyes feel puffy and tired. 

“Louis,” he says some time later. 

“Mm, what?” Louis asks, moaning a little in his sleep. 

“What do you think you’ll do when your service is up?” 

“Isn’t this kind of a deep conversation for—” Louis opens his eyes and looks at the clock, “four in the goddamn morning?”

“It’s a deep conversation for any time, I reckon,” Niall says seriously. “I can’t fall back asleep. It’s your job to talk to me until I’m sleepy again.”

“When’d that become my job? I don’t remember signing up,” Louis grumbles, but he sighs as Niall pokes him in the chest with his cold fingers. “When all this is over, I’ll probably re-enlist. Fight aliens until we don’t need to anymore.” He grabs Niall’s hand to stop him from poking him further, and Niall sulks. “Might like to be stationed in space, like Gemma.”

“I can see that,” Niall says, because he can.

“Not everyone’s cut out for it, like,” Louis says sleepily. “But the General says I’ve the aptitude.” He yawns. “No offense.”

“I know I’m not cut out for space or for being career military,” Niall says, and sucks in a breath as Louis starts playing with his fingers. “Know my heart’s not in it. So,” he says as Louis starts running a knuckle up and down his palm, “you’re not saying anything that shocks me.”

“S’pose I’ll have to try harder,” Louis says, “to think of something that’ll shock you.” He yawns again. “What _do_ you wanna do, then? When your service is up. Any ideas?”

“My mate Bressie—”

“Tall bloke, built like a brick wall?”

“Yeah, him,” Niall says. “He says he wants to build a school for young mutants in Mullingar.”

“Mm,” Louis says, “you with kids. Never thought of it before but it suits you.” He stops playing with Niall’s fingers and slings an arm over his chest, resting his palm over Niall’s heartbeat. “Good thing you weren’t _my_ teacher, growing up,” he drawls. “If you were my teacher, I’d flunk all my classes cos I’d be too busy thinking of ways to suck you off behind your desk.”

“You’re a menace,” Niall says, laughing.

“That I am,” Louis says. “Also,” he yawns, “I’m thinking that when we wake up in the morning, you should fuck me. So, like, try to get some sleep.” He closes his eyes, smiling. “You’re gonna need it, mate.”

 

:::

 

The praying mantis Niall scooped up from their last fight lives in a mason jar on his dresser. He’s poked the lid full of airholes before googling what mantises eat. Other bugs, it turns out, which warrants an impromptu trip to a posh pet store where he picks up a box full of dead crickets. He’s been stuffing the dead crickets inside the jar, one by one.

Louis finally notices the jar when he’s over in Niall’s room one afternoon, not even faffing around trying to get Niall out of his clothes. He’s just sort of there for no discernible reason, which is mildly confusing, but Niall won’t say anything if Louis won’t. Louis’ barefoot with hairy toes, eating a jam roly poly on the bed while flipping through Niall’s porn mags. “Liam’s right, you do have a type,” he says, and Niall’s not sure why he sounds so pleased by that, but then Louis lowers the mag and says, “The fuck you doing?”

Niall drops another cricket into the jar, pushing it between the slits of his fingers as he covers the opening with his hand, careful not to let the mantis escape.

“I don’t need to report this to the General, do I?” Louis asks. “You’ve not gone soft over our enemies and started keeping them as pets. What am I saying, that’s exactly what you’re doing. Jesus fuck, Niall, stop that.” He drops the mag to the ground, porn no longer the priority of the day. He drops the roly poly too, where it makes a red stain on Niall’s duvet.

Niall caps the jar again. He grabs Louis by the wrist and drags him into the toilets. “I’m not keeping it as a bloody pet,” he says. “Calm your knickers.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” Louis asks. “Why are we in the loo?”

“Cos that bugger might be able to understand what we’re saying,” Niall reminds him. Twelve years of war and scientists on Earth still aren’t quite sure how the insect soldiers operate. They do know the alien bugs to be significantly smarter than Earth bugs, as if somewhere along the line on the Uninvited’s home planet, that particular evolutionary trajectory went spiraling off into something glorious and mad. According to tests at the U.N. Institute for Extraterrestrial Research, the alien bugs have a roughly equivalent intelligence to a dog.

So maybe when they’re pushed through the wormholes onto Earth, like a war dog they’re just superbly well-trained to attack. Or maybe, is another popular theory, they’re even smarter than that. Maybe they’re not sentient creatures at all but drones being directly controlled by some Uninvited pilot sitting on their home planet, who can hear everything Niall’s saying. He’d rather not take the risk.

“You’re very secretive,” Louis says, crossing his arms. “It’s not your most attractive quality. Secretive _and_ paranoid, cos that bug ain’t gonna hear anything through all that glass.”

“Hush, I’ve a plan,” Niall says. “This mantis was separated from the rest of its troops, right? I’m gonna release it, and then follow it to see where it goes. It might go nowhere,” he admits, “but I’m hoping it goes to the wormhole, home base, and then maybe we’ll finally have a chance of finding it.”

“You’re gonna follow the mantis,” Louis says, and his gaze sharpens. Louis’ no fool. “In mantis-form, you mean? You been practicing?”

“Yeah,” Niall says.

“You think you’re good enough? Bet this bug can move fast.”

“I think I’m okay at it, yeah, enough to get by,” Niall says, trying not to think of his dream of a few nights ago. “It’s not like we can put a tracker on these bugs.” They’ve done that before, and the bugs notice right away, won’t go anywhere. He waves his hands. “But in Korea, like, they use shapeshifters to track them. I read that online, and I thought, why not give it a try. Seems kind of weird we haven’t done it already.”

“That’s cos shapeshifters are the most common strain of mutants in Korea,” says Louis, who knows more about mutant history than anyone Niall’s ever met. “And in London there’s only, like, you. It’s always been more efficient for us to use thermal.”

“But then it stopped working.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “alright then, when were you thinking of doing the release?”

“Well, could do it right now,” Niall says, looking around. “Don’t got any other plans today.”

“Jesus Christ, you move fast when you make up your mind,” Louis says.

“That’s the point, innit,” Niall says, and laughs. “I need you to take the jar outside and release it, if that’s okay. It’ll be better if I’m already in mantis-form the moment the mantis gets moving, and if it doesn’t see me transform.” 

“Fine,” Louis says, “but if you find the wormhole, you will not engage. Do you copy? I’ll rally the lads here, and when you give us the go, we’ll meet up with you and destroy the wormhole together.” His fingers curl, forming half-fists. “No heroics, no solo missions, no James Bond shit.” He meets Niall’s eyes. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Niall says. “Was never one for that kind of nonsense anyway.”

“I know,” Louis says. He rolls his shoulders. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“If that jar’s been on your dresser for days, does that mean it’s been watching us shag this whole time?”

“Don’t worry,” Niall says. “Reckon you always put on a good show.” 

Outside on the front steps of their building, Niall does stretches to loosen himself up for transformation. Their doorman, George, peers at him with interest. “Business as usual then, Private Horan?” he asks.

“Sounds about right,” Niall grins. “If you see Louis come down, can you make sure he don’t step on me?” 

“Certainly, sir,” George says, and watches as Niall shrinks down into mantis-form. George is kind enough to pick up the pile of clothes Niall’s left behind, and careful enough not to sweep Niall away with it. Niall hops down onto the last step and waits. It’s not long before Louis emerges with the jar in hand.

“Sir,” George says, folding Niall’s clothes over his arm. “Watch your step.”

Louis looks down and sees Niall. He walks past him gingerly, giving him a wide berth, goes all the way up to where the curb meets the street, and crouches down on all fours. “Run free, you little fucker,” he says, and opens the jar. The mantis inside leaps out, so fast that it’s disoriented at first. Niall, who’s been following them, leaps after it. The mantis starts to run. Niall runs too.

There are so many dangerous things on the streets of London when you’re a the size of a mantis. Niall’s brain immediately lights up with instinctive fear. There’s someone’s foot to his left, there’s a stroller coming his way to the right, and there’s a pigeon swooping from a railing and eyeing him like food. Everything’s so loud, so big, that he only recognizes things for what they are using the part of his brain that’s still human, has memory of these things. Using his mantis eyes on each side of his head, everything’s a maddening chunk of colour and sound, like he’s fallen inside the world of a cubist painting.

He tells himself not to get overwhelmed by the rest of it, he’s got only one job, and that’s to follow the other mantis. He trains his vision on his scurrying, skittering prey. He runs after it until he overtakes the other mantis, and then he slows his pace until he’s keeping up, and they’re running side by side. The other mantis looks at him, but doesn’t stop or attack or do anything alien mantises do when they realize they’re joined by a human enemy. It keeps running, unbothered by Niall’s presence, so Niall does too.

They scramble off the roads and start dashing through patches of grass, hugging the sides of curbs where they’re less likely to be seen. They run past buildings and parked cars and bits of gum wrappers and cigarette butts. They run until Niall’s fighting the bug part of his brain that’s starting to forget why he was doing this, and then the other mantis scurries through a crack on the side of a building, going inside.

Niall follows it through the walls and into what looks like the back area of a diner, though it must be closed because the lights are all off and there’s nobody around. He follows the mantis up a set of stairs to where there’s an empty apartment, an open door, and a potted plant on a windowsill. He watches as the other mantis jumps into the potted plant and, with a shiver of light, it vanishes.

Niall flits down the stairs and out of the diner. He changes into human-form on the street and badly startles an elderly woman with her groceries by strolling up to her naked and asking, “Can I borrow your phone for a sec?”

“Found the wormhole,” he says brightly when Louis picks up. “It’s in a—” he peers up at the diner, “—a fish and chip shop, actually. Second floor, good sightlines through a window. Bring a sniper rifle, will ya?”

The poor lady looks terrified, not only by Niall’s fleshy bits flapping in the wind but also by his clear enthusiasm for firearms. She snatches her phone back and starts booking it down the street, her grocery bags banging into the sides of her thighs. “Thanks!” Niall calls after her apologetically. “I’m a superhero, I promise! I’ll put on some clothes!”

He does, when the rest of One Direction pulls up in a Range Rover. No chopper this time, good, it would have been too loud and too obvious, might alert any alien life form who’s watching the fish and chip shop from another planet. When his team arrive Niall’s lurking around the side of the building, wishing for a bedsheet or even a paper bag to put on so that he can be a little less publically starkers. When Louis sees him, his face goes through a series of rapid emotions before finally settling on relief. He marches up to Niall and reels him in for a kiss, deep and long, one hand on Niall’s arse while Niall makes startled, helpless noises into Louis’ mouth. He melts into Louis’ arms, kissing back.

Zayn clears his throat. 

Louis pulls away quickly, his face pink. His expression tells Niall he hadn’t meant to do that. Niall resists the urge to touch his own mouth and feel the lingering heat of Louis’ kiss.

“Can we snog later?” Liam asks irritably, hoisting the rifle over his shoulder. On the other side of Liam, Harry’s grinning.

Louis’ face goes dim and cold. “Brought you some clothes,” he says. “Have at ‘em.” He shoves a bag at Niall without looking him in the eye, andturns away so abruptly that Niall barely has time to catch the bag before it hits the ground. He gets changed, trying not to stare after Louis’ retreating back while Zayn and Harry scout out the building across the street, some sort of stationary shop, where they’ll have an unobstructed shot from the roof. Louis goes to double-check the fish and chip place, making sure Niall’s bug-vision didn’t miss anyone inside.

When they get the clear from Louis and climb onto the roof, Liam sets up the AWSM sniper rifle so that its crosshairs are fixed on the potted plant in the window. He gets on his belly, makes a minor adjustment for aim. Then he pushes himself up to his feet in one fluid motion. “Actually,” he says, “Nialler, do you wanna do it? You’re the one who got us this far.”

“Sure,” Niall says, surprised since they all agree usually that if there’s a shot to be taken, Liam’s your man. But Liam smiles at him fondly, so Niall smiles back and lies down flat behind the telescopic sight. Liam’s already set it up with the perfect shot, and they never need to worry about wind because Louis makes sure there is none. It’s as easy as anything. Niall adjusts the cheek piece, steadies the grip, and rests his finger on the trigger.

The potted plant shines silver in the afternoon sun, otherworldly spots on its leaves like something fine and rusted. Niall pulls the trigger. He hears the bullet punch through the window, sees the glass shatter. Then the bullet tears through the potter and rips the wormhole so that the whole plant goes up in an explosion of scattered particles of dirt and light. The air around the plant turns dark, and through the freshly gaping slits Niall can see glittering stars in a deep, cold black. They wait to see if anything crawls out of that space, like more enemies, but nothing does after a minute. Then the air sews itself shut, becomes ordinary again. 

“Beautiful!” Liam shouts. He grabs Niall by the shoulders and hauls him to his feet, grinning into his face. “Nice shot!”

“You did most of the work for me, ya wanker,” Niall says, but he’s laughing, feeling jubilant as Harry and Zayn pile on top of him, whooping. Only Louis keeps his distance, hands crammed into his pockets. 

“It _was_ a nice shot,” Louis says quietly, later, when they’re climbing into the Range Rover and the two of them are squeezed into the backseat with Harry. Up in the front Liam and Zayn are arguing about what radio station to listen to, and Harry’s kicking Liam’s seat whining about why none of them are asking what he wants, he’s got the best taste in music of them all.

“No, Harry,” Zayn says, “it’s cos we _don’t_ wanna listen to sad folksy rock about people’s sexual identity crises.”

Louis, ordinarily the first to jump into any argument about music, stays silent. Niall wants to reach out and take his hand, wants to squeeze his fingers and bask in the moment. It was a nice shot, they destroyed the Sector 3 wormhole, and their work’s never really over because there will always be another wormhole that’ll open up, another fight, but. Like a bartender sliding another drink across the counter, he’ll take it.

Louis’ hand is right there. Niall could weave their fingers together. Niall _wants_ to do it. Louis has such nice fingers, long and nimble, with slightly stubbier thumbs and little whispers of hair on his knuckles. They’d fit perfectly when slotted with Niall’s fingers, like a door and a hinge. But then he thinks of the way Louis had jerked away from him when he realized the others were watching, the look on his face like he knew his own mistake. And Niall thinks, maybe not. 

 

:::

 

The call comes in from General Cowell when Niall’s got a mouth full of milk and cereal. “Hrgggh?” he asks, picking up.

“I want to commend you, Private Horan, for the fine job of locating the Sector 3 wormhole,” General Cowell says. “It was a clever piece of thinking. Keep up the good work.” He hangs up.

Niall stares at his phone. “Don’t think that’s ever happened to me before. Didn’t think he remembered my name, to be honest.”

“What’d you mean?” Zayn asks. “He’s always saying your name when he gives us feedback on our fights. _Private Horan, you need to pick up the pace. Private Horan, do you not have eyes?_ ” he mimics. 

“Well, other than that, obviously,” Niall amends. “He did leave me flowers in the hospital that one time, after my knee got crushed. But I think the card said ‘Dear Soldier.’ Huh, that’s cool that he rang me up.” He returns to eating his cereal. Zayn buries his nose in the book that he’s reading. Then Louis’ wandering through into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of the coffee Niall already made, and Niall’s belly goes soft and sort of achey at the sight of him. 

“My mum got promoted at work,” Louis grunts instead of hello. He leans against the counter. “I wanna get her a present.”

Zayn ignores him. Niall chews his cereal slowly.

“Fine, whatever, if no one wants to come with—”

“I’ll come with,” Niall says. He pushes his chair out and stands up, wiping his mouth. “Could stand to buy some gifts for Theo. Let me grab my stuff, okay?”

When he’s got his coat on and his wallet tucked in his pocket, he trots into the hallway to find Harry sticking his head out of his door and hollering, “Wait for me, I’m coming too! Just gotta have a wee first!”

“Let’s ditch Harry and run,” Louis suggests.

“Um,” says Niall, but Louis gives him a smile that’s pure mischief, and Niall’s heart does a running leap in his chest. He shoots some very apologetic looks at Harry’s door when he sees it open and catches Harry’s scandalized expression as Niall scampers after Louis out of their penthouse and into the lift. In the lift Louis’ humming obnoxiously, and then they’re on the first floor landing and racing past George, who barely gets the front door open for them in time.

“If Harry asks, don’t tell him what direction we went in!” Louis shouts to George halfway down the street, while an outraged voice from the foyer that means Harry must’ve made good time with his own lift, bellows, “Louis Tomlinson, I can hear you!”

“Run!” Louis shouts, and he’s shoving at Niall’s back, forcing him to go faster. Niall trips and flails down the street as Louis hustles him towards the entrance of the Tube. When he glances over his shoulder he can see Harry chasing after them with his trousers unbuttoned, holding onto them so that they don’t fall off. It turns his brisk run into more of a waddle. When he next looks, Harry’s stopped waddling and is waving at them with one finger in the air.

“Fine! Have fun together, you fucking lovebirds!” Harry shouts.

After they get off the Tube on Oxford Street and Niall has bars on his phone again, he texts Harry _sorry_. 

Harry’s reply comes through promptly. _don’t suck his dick, he doesn’t deserve it_. Niall snickers as he puts his phone in his pocket and watches Louis barrel into the first high-end shop that he sees.

“My mum wants a purse, recommend me a purse,” he says to the shopkeepers, while they stare at this messy-haired lad in a t-shirt full of holes that expose the dark swoops of his tattoos. 

“We’re One Direction,” Niall offers, wondering if it’ll help, and it does. The recognition clicks into the shopkeepers’ faces and they’re a lot nicer to Louis after that, though their niceness only makes Louis bait them some more. As they bring forward example of bags for Louis to look at, Louis takes especial delight in describing out loud to Niall how hideous each of them are.

“Be nice,” Niall says even as he laughs. “Come on, they’re only doing their jobs.”

“Have you met me before?” Louis says with a flash of teeth. “Anyway, I don’t like any of these.” 

“Sorry,” Niall says to the shopkeepers as Louis starts shoving him out the door. “Enjoy your day!”

“God, you really are such a fucking choirboy,” Louis says when they’re on the street again. Niall smiles and swoops him a look from beneath his lashes to remind him of all the things they’ve done that a choirboy would never do. Louis looks away. 

He’s nicer in the next shop they go into, if only because Niall does the talking for him. It turns out Louis doesn’t know a lot about women’s handbags, and honestly Niall doesn’t either. But it’s fun to pretend like they’re the sort of posh folks who do. Niall looks at handbag after handbag while trying not to have a heart attack over the price tags because Jesus, really? But Louis doesn’t seem fazed at all, Louis’ got his credit card between his fingers and is toying with it repeatedly until Niall wants to grab it from him and make him buy something sensible for his mum, like flowers. But this is Louis and sensible is the furthest thing from his mind.

They end up buying a oxblood red Mansur Gavriel, and when Louis looks at it, his face softens. “For all the promotions and birthdays and anniversaries I couldn’t be at home for,” he says, and Niall wants even more than before to take his hand, because yeah, he feels the same, misses his family every day and hates that he can’t see them until his service years are over. 

They stop at a luxury toy store where everything is just — kind of fucking ridiculous, Niall thinks, like who needs a teddy bear encrusted with Swarovski crystals or a Chanel football. But Louis gets a real hoot out of it, and even though they both should know better, it’s like a madness overtakes them at the sight of so many adorable things. Niall just barely stops Louis from actively kidnapping a rosy-cheeked toddler browsing in the shop with his dad, and instead they bang out with bags full of gifts for younger siblings and nephews. Theo’s going to love the astronaut duvet cover Niall found, he can’t wait to watch him open it on Skype.

They wander up and down Oxford Street until their feet get sore, until their arms hurt from carrying so many bags. Niall loses track of Louis at one point in Selfridges. When Louis finds him again, Niall’s sitting on a couch in the shoe department watching ladies try on high heels. “‘m not moving anymore,” Niall announces. “You’ll have to carry me home.”

“Get up, you lazy arse,” Louis says. “I bought you something, look.” He empties a Selfridges bag onto Niall’s lap, and Niall blinks as a little clear pouch with miniature bottles tumbles out. “They’re oils,” Louis proclaims.

“For cooking?” Niall scrunches up his face in confusion. “Why’re they so small then?”

“No, you twat, you, like, dab them onto your wrists and pulse points or summat,” Louis says. “That’s what the salesperson said to me. Supposed to be calming, to help you sleep.” He pulls a face. “I thought with your nightmares, y’know… oh forget it, it was a daft idea.” He grabs the kit back from Niall, and Niall stares and stares.

Somewhere behind him a woman in a yellow coat tries on a pair of towering stilettos, takes a few steps, and falls down, but Niall hardly notices. He keeps staring at Louis’ face like this is the first time he’s really seen it before. Oh, Niall thinks, oh, fuck.

“Let’s go back to the flat, yeah?” he hears himself say out loud. “I’m knackered.”

He’s quiet on the Tube, has trouble concentrating on whatever Louis’ saying to him. Louis stops after a while, knuckles turning white around the bags he’s carrying. He falls into morose silence, which is dangerous. Morose silence for Louis has a tendency to ripen into something deeper and angrier, but Niall’s got his own thoughts to keep him occupied, and all he can think is, he’s falling in love with this boy, he’s more than halfway there, hell, he might _be_ there already. He always thought he was too smart to let himself feel anything deeper for Louis, but it turns out Niall’s not nearly as clever as he thinks he is.

He’s realistic, though. That’s not changed.

When they get in the door and after Harry yells at their faces for five minutes straight — which Harry seems to enjoy, immensely, if the way he keeps breaking into giggles is any indication —, Niall turns to Louis and says, “Can we talk?”

Louis follows him to his room. Niall closes the door, leans against it, and says, “I think we ought to stop shagging.”

Louis’ face does something complicated. “You think so?” he asks coolly.

“I’m starting to think,” Niall says, trying to find the right words that won’t give too much away, that isn’t handing Louis his heart on a plate, “we might want different things out of this.” He sees Louis pale. “It isn’t fair, if we’re not on the same page,” he adds haltingly, pulse speeding up even as his words slow down. “Someone’ll get hurt. Like, I don’t want to mess up the team cos of this. I don’t want to mess up _us_.”

“Us,” Louis repeats. “You think there’s an us?”

“I mean, as friends,” Niall says, getting flustered. “You bought me a gift, didn’t you. I reckon that makes us friends.”

“We’re not friends,” Louis says. 

“We were getting to be. Like we used to. On X-Factor.”

“Nah, I don’t think we were,” Louis says, leaning forward. “Harry and me, that’s friends. Me and Zayn and Liam, that’s friends. You and I, we’re teammates who sometimes fuck, is all. And if you think that’s not a good idea, sure, I don’t really care.” He shrugs. “It’s only been, what, two weeks since we started? I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.”

Niall knew Louis wouldn’t, but it makes him flinch anyway. “Good,” he says out loud, working to keep his voice even, to sound like nothing Louis’ saying hurts him in the slightest. “Easy in, easy out. ‘s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“So, like,” Louis says casually, “when you say you wanna stop, did you wanna stop right now? Or is there room for one last shag?” He grabs the front of his trousers, cups his bollocks meaningfully. “One for the road. How about it?”

“I’m not a bloody bag of McDonald’s takeout,” Niall retorts. But he is, evidently, aside from not being very clever, not a very strong person either because he lets Louis walk him backwards until their legs hit the bed. One last time, he thinks. It’s not like it’s going to make any real difference one way or another. As long as it’s just the once. Louis shoves Niall flat on his back and then straddles his hips. He bends down to kiss Niall hard and rough, tongue licking into his mouth. He pins Niall’s wrists above his head. 

Niall gasps at that, and feels his prick harden so quick it makes him dizzy. There’s no hiding his reaction from Louis. Louis smiles, amused, and tightens his grip on Niall’s wrists. Niall squirms underneath him and makes keening noises that he’ll be too embarrassed to remember in the morning, but right now he can’t imagine stopping. 

He keens as Louis kisses him, rubbing Niall’s face with his stubble. He keens as Louis fingers him open, quicker and sloppier than he would normally, but that’s what one last fuck means, doesn’t it, it’s not meant to be gentle. Louis’ rough with him as he works his cock into Niall’s arse, starts fucking into him with heavy pushes that make Niall’s bollocks throb with how good it feels, how much he’ll miss this. 

Louis fucks him recklessly, almost brutally. He fucks him until Niall’s hole is loose and open, until he’s sliding in and out of him groaning. Niall wants to clutch his shoulders to pull him even closer, to bury his face in Louis’ hair so that he can fill up his lungs with the mixture of day-old hair product and dried sweat that’s so distinctively Louis. He wants to carry it with him even when this is over, but he can’t since Louis won’t let go of his wrists. Louis won’t let him move at all, and Niall doesn’t fight it, lets himself keen with bright-eyed pleasure as Louis pins him down and fucks him into the mattress. 

“I’m gonna come,” Niall whimpers, but Louis doesn’t reply. He keeps on fucking him, eyes glued to Niall’s face, something dark and satisfied in his face when Niall falls apart beneath him, bucking and crying as he tips over the edge. “Louis!” Niall says as he comes, head lolling on the sheets. “Louis!” 

He hears Louis suck in a hissing breath, and feels the stutter of his hips, followed by the long, deep thrust and heartfelt moan that means Louis’ coming too. 

When it’s done, they lie sprawled on top of each other, trying to catch their breaths. Niall closes his eyes, tries to calm the too-quick beating of his heart. He feels Louis slide wetly out of him — no condom, Niall thinks dazedly, they’d been too rushed to care. Louis rolls off the bed. It’s suddenly quite cold. He listens to the sounds of Louis throwing on his clothes and heading for the door, and the next time Niall opens his eyes, Louis’ gone. 

 

:::

 

Niall’s always loved the quiet that follows the closing of a wormhole. Knowing there probably won’t be a lot of activity in your sector for the next few weeks opens up time to do other things. Not just training but proper activities like sleeping in, or grabbing brunch with friends, or playing a round of golf. It’s almost like being a regular lad again, which is something he forgets to be, sometimes, when superheroing’s a 24/7 job and he’s always on call.

General Cowell’s PR team book them a couple of radio and telly interviews. They do a photoshoot for a local magazine. There’s community groups and schools who want them to come out and do a talk. All that good stuff that comes with being a public figure. Niall’s happy to let Louis and Liam take the lead at outreach events. They’re always the ones who know what to say, anyway, who can describe what it means to be a superhero with the sort of passion that gets other people going. All Niall’s required to do is smile, sign some autographs, and pose with children, which he is _fantastic_ at, a total natural.

He sees the photos surface on Twitter, and he’s beaming in each of them. No sign at all that his stomach hurts like he’s eaten a hundred cantaloupe salads in one go.

Louis is doing great. Whenever they got to talk to people about what they do, Louis is sharp and clever, can make people laugh even when he’s taking the piss out of them. Louis gets invited to train with the Doncaster Rovers, and Niall secretly watches the Youtube footage of Louis mucking about with the players, jogging up and down the field covered in grass stains and the warm buttery kiss of the afternoon sun.

Louis texts their group WhatsApp chat, after: _they came to watch_.

When Niall plays the video later and peers intently at his laptop screen, he can see in the stands in the very back a gaggle of familiar pointy Tomlinson/Deakin faces presided over by a kind-looking woman with a new red handbag. He knows those faces, from the photos Louis has stuck all over his walls and the Skype sessions Louis has wrapped up when Niall walks into a room.

“That’s dangerous,” Liam worries when they get the text during lunch. “If they got caught visiting him… he shouldn’t even be texting us about it.”

“Louis’ not exactly the most careful person, is he,” Zayn says. “And why should he be? Has anyone upstairs been able to really properly explain what’s so awful about us getting to see our families?” He shakes his head. “Four fucking years, man. It’s not right.”

Harry ducks his head, hiding behind his hair. Niall looks away, pretends to be busy alphabetically rearranging the cereal boxes on top of the fridge. This is an argument that only Louis really ever wants to have with Zayn, and Louis is in Doncaster.

When Louis gets back to London, he’s in high spirits, banging in and out of the flat on his way to all sorts of plans. “Louis’ got da-ates,” Harry singsongs as the rest of the lads are watching footie and Louis’ dashing about trying to find his phone. Louis grins at Harry and pushes his quiff back with his fingers. 

“Louis, you’ve showered,” Zayn says. He gets up and wraps himself around Louis, making a big production out of sniffing Louis’ neck. “You smell… neutral? What is this? Are we in a wormhole? Are we _dyin’_?”

“Don’t stay up waiting for me, lads,” Louis says. He gropes Zayn’s arse on his way out and salutes them at the door. Not once does he look at Niall.

But that’s the way it ought to be. Niall will get over it, he’ll bounce back, and then they’ll all be normal again. He won’t lie awake at night with his throat feeling wet and tight, staring up at his ceiling thinking it’s way too quiet until he realizes that what he’s really listening for is Louis’ snores. He won’t stay up to hear Louis come home half past two, stumbling in the halls tipsy and then laughing as he bangs on Harry’s door.

“Haz, I gotta tell you something,” Niall hears Louis say when Harry cracks open his door. “Haz, are you listening? I’m telling you something very important right now.”

“I’m listening,” Harry says patiently.

“I’m so happy,” Louis says. “Right now I’m so bloody happy.”

“Why is Louis so miserable?” Harry asks in the morning when Niall’s making omelettes for the sober while Louis’ off hanging over his toilet throwing up last night’s vodka. 

“He’s not, though,” Niall says, paying very careful attention to flipping the omelette at the right moment. It’s for Liam, and Liam is particular about the shape of his omelettes.

“He’s miserable,” Harry says firmly, “which you’d know if you’d ever talk to him.”

Niall frowns. He notices a speck of shell in the pan. “Maybe he just didn’t get laid properly last night,” he says, trying to pick out the shell with the edge of his spatula. He only ends up driving it deeper into the egg mixture. “Maybe he misses his family,” he adds, a little more gently. “It’d be hard, I reckon, to see them again for such a short period of time. Couldn’t ever be enough.”

“Yeah, that’s probably some of it,” Harry says, “but I’ve seen Louis when he misses his family and this is more… how should I put it?”

“Pathetic,” Zayn finishes, glancing up from the book he’s reading.

“That’s it!” Harry nods. “Louis’ being pathetic. He’s all ‘Haaaaaaarry, make me feel better’ and ‘Haaaaaaarry, no one will ever love me in this world.’ We watched Sleepless in Seattle at four a.m. cos he couldn’t sleep, and he started sniffling. It’s depressing, is what it is. What’s got to him like that?”

“What?” Niall asks when he realizes they’ve all turned to look at him. “Payno, I hope you don’t mind your omelette has a bit of shell in it. I’m not trying to kill ya, honest.” 

“I like to live dangerously through my omelettes,” Liam replies, at the same time as Zayn says, “Well, Louis _has_ been wantonly seduced lately. Maybe that’s what’s got to do with it.”

“I did not wantonly seduce him!” Niall yelps.

“You two did start snogging while you were naked in public,” Harry says. 

“Louis wasn’t naked,” Niall says pedantically.

“No, but he was like _this_ close to giving you a prostate exam with his bare fingers,” Liam points out. “It was a bit much. Besides, we’ve all heard the two of you going at it. It’s only been a few weeks but we can practically set our watches when it’s Niall and Louis Shag O’Clock. So,” he shrugs, “it’s not exactly a secret, mate.”

Niall’s face burns at the thought of his teammates hearing the sounds he’s made in bed. His nose is going to fall off his face, it burns so much, when Harry starts imitating those noises, going “uh uh uh” with a breathy pitch that’s a little too horrifyingly familiar.

“But we’re not doing that anymore,” Niall interrupts. “We’ve stopped.”

“Why?” Zayn asks, fiddling with his fork. “Was he terrible in bed? Were _you_ terrible in bed?”

Niall glares at him. Zayn’s supposed to be his ally. Zayn’s not supposed to join in on everyone else’s bullshit. Zayn’s supposed to be _sensible_. 

“You need to ask? Cos it’s messy, is why,” he says. “If we went down that road, only one thing was ever gonna happen.” He gives the frying pan a good shove when the omelette starts to burn. “And you don’t need a member of One Direction getting brokenhearted over another member of One Direction.”

“Sounds to me,” Zayn replies, “like that’s already happened.” 

“I’m getting over it!” Niall says, growing hot at the nape of his neck. “I swear. Look, it’s not gonna happen overnight, I’m not gonna snap my fingers and poof, all my daft feelings go away.” His voice gets louder. “All I can do right now is try to get my head straight, so maybe you ought to stop making fun of me and leave me the fuck alone.” He turns off the dial on the hob and walks out the kitchen.

Liam finds him on the balcony, elbows bent over the rail, contemplating the dried up potter with all the cigarette butts Zayn’s stuffed into it over the years. It better not be a wormhole, is all Niall’s going to say on the subject. 

“We’re not making fun of you,” Liam says, sliding his hand up Niall’s back and squeezing. “God, that’s the last thing we meant to do.”

“I know,” Niall says, and the anger dries up, just like that, shrivels like a piece of fruit in the desert. He’s never been able to stay pissed at his mates for long. “I just hated hearing you talk about me and Louis, like — like it was a laugh.” He turns to face Liam. “It was, though, wasn’t it? It was a great laugh.”

“If there’s a joke, I don’t think either you or Louis are laughing,” Liam says. “Here, I wanna show you something.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing. Liam’s a slow typer. It takes ages. When he finally flips his phone around so that Niall can see, there’s a Youtube vid loaded up. 

Niall squints at the title. It’s X-Factor finals, and when he sees the year he snorts because yep, there’s all those baby mutants on stage and there’s him, eighteen years old with a cheap dye job and braces, and jittery with nerves, waiting for the judges to decide his whole future.

Louis’ standing beside him in the video, and it’s funny to see this now, years later, because Niall remembers the awe he’d felt for Louis on the show, how intimidated he’d been by him sometimes. When seeing him now, all Niall can think is that Louis looks young too, pale and pinched, like he’s about to be sick as they wait for the results.

Niall remembers thinking, on that stage, _please let me be on a team with him, please let me be on a team with him_. What he doesn’t remember is reaching out and holding Louis’ hand, but watching the video, it looks like he did. He’s giving Louis a shaky smile and Louis’ smiling back, eyes soft, clearly trying to be brave for Niall’s sake, and younger Niall’s eating it up, visibly relaxing as they squeeze their fingers together. He and Louis are holding hands all the way up to the moment when the judges announce the formation of One Direction.

“He only ever had eyes for you,” Liam says. “Even back then.” 

“Liam,” Niall protests.

“I mean it,” Liam says, pocketing his phone. “Like, we’re a team, right? Each of us are different things to each other. For Louis, it’s like—”

“No, really, you don’t got to—”

“Just fucking listen to me, alright?” Liam says. “Let me say my piece and then you can decide if you want to bin me or not.”

Niall bites his tongue. If it was anyone else he’d probably think they were full of rubbish right now, but it’s Liam. The problem with Liam is that he’s so genuine, if the Uninvited learned how to clone them and Niall walked into a warehouse full of copycat Liams, he’d know how to find the real one, no problem, because no one can fake that level of sincerity. It doesn’t mean Liam’s right, just that he believes so hard.

“For Louis, it’s like.” Liam starts ticking it off his fingers. “Zayn’s a challenge for him. He and Zayn believe in such different things that Zayn’s always forcing Louis to question his worldview. It’s frustrating but it’s also good, see. Louis respects Zayn, respects that Zayn can make him change his mind.”

“Harry,” Liam says, “is basically Louis’ squeeze toy and let’s just leave it at that.”

Niall laughs.

“Me,” Liam says, shifting his weight from one foot to another, “me and Liam just get each other, y’know? We’re like brothers. When I’m in the field with Louis, it’s the most amazing feeling cos we’re in perfect sync. He’s my commander and I’m his lieutenant, and we’re like this one-two punch. Together we can take down anything.”

It’s true, he’s seen Liam do the most mental things in a fight because Louis wanted him to, and it’s always worked, every time. They have that kind of faith in each other.

“And you,” Liam says, starting to smile. “You, he adores.”

“Really,” Niall says.

“You’re his dream boy, his pin up princess, his dirty fantasy,” Liam says. “You’re sun and rain and storm and snow rolled into one. You’re everything he wants but has never let himself have.” 

“Payno, you’re so—”

“Poetic?” Liam drawls.

“I was gonna say hokey, but sure, whatever floats your boat,” Niall says. The ache in his stomach deepens and he presses down on his abdomen like he’s trying to squash a wrinkle. “If Louis thinks I’m — all that, then why hasn’t he said anything? It’s not like I would’ve ever said no.” He makes a face. “Louis’ got to know that. I was — so obvious, especially at the start.”

“Well, Nialler,” Liam says, “I don’t think you’re as obvious as you think you are. And I can’t tell you everything that goes on in Louis’ head. It’s kind of a mess there, who’da thunk.” His smile broadens. “But are you not even gonna _try_?”

“Christ,” Niall says with a hoarse chuckle, “when’d you become such a shrink?”

“When I realized that Zayn is going to leave,” Liam says.

“What?” Niall asks. His fingers tighten.

“I saw it,” Liam says simply. “He’s gonna give us everything he’s able to give, because he loves us, but when it isn’t enough, he’ll leave.”

“He can’t leave,” Niall says sharply. “They’ll throw him in jail for desertion.”

“So then he’ll run,” Liam replies. He turns his head and squints at the sun, at the clear periwinkle morning. “The world’s a big place. Lots of spots to hide.” He leans forward on the railing and clasps his fingers together. “I’m worried Harry will go with him. I’ve not seen it in my visions but — I have a feeling. Harry’s a glass window full of fractures.” He glances at Niall. “It means if there’s stuff I _can_ make right, I will.”

What would it be like, Niall wonders, to be Liam and to know things before anybody else knows them. They’ve all heard the stories of seers who’ve gone mad with what crawls inside their heads. He looks at Liam, the way Liam smiles back with his whole face, nose scrunched up, cheeks ballooned out, and he puts an arm around him, pulling him close. He never wants to let him go, wants to keep Liam safe at his side forever. They stand there like that, swaying gently, while a pigeon flies in from the sky and lands on the railing.

“Ten quid it’s gonna take a shit right there,” Niall whispers.

“Oh it will,” Liam says, and it does. He gives Niall one more squeeze and then lets go. “You and Louis will be fine, by the way.”

“Have you seen it?” Niall asks. He means for it to be a smart-arse remark, the sort of thing that’ll crack Liam up, but it doesn’t come out that way, it comes out quiet and serious and scared.

“Don’t need to,” Liam says.

A window opens and Harry leans out, peeling a banana. “Zayn, I found him, he’s out here moping,” he’s saying over his shoulder. “Liam’s here too. Oh my god,” he breathes, “have you left Louis for Liam? Too scandalous!”

Niall tries to throw the pigeon at his face.

 

:::

 

For someone who is basically the human equivalent of the rainstorm that cracks open an otherwise sunny day and drenches you until you’re nothing more than soggy cardboard, Louis is surprisingly hard to get alone. Niall _sees_ him plenty over the next few days — “oh, ha,” says Adele when she catches them at a charity gala, “here’s Shortie and Blondie side by side in a pair of posh suits; looking good, boys” — but Louis proceeds in a vigorous campaign of ignoring Niall entirely.

“Louis,” Niall says, putting a hand on his shoulder. It _is_ a nice suit, he thinks, bespoke and satiny to the touch. Louis looks like a fierce-eyed, hollow-boned prince, like someone you could cut yourself on. Niall touches him hesitantly, waiting to be shrugged off.

Louis blinks, like he’s coming out of a daze. “What is it?”

“Can we talk?”

“Thought we’d already done all our talking,” Louis says, looking over at the other side of the grand convention hall where the rest of the party’s going on, where Harry and Zayn are attempting to… the generous description would be ‘dance’, the more accurate description would be ‘hobble uncertainly on their skinny stork legs.’ Harry keeps tossing his head to the music and hitting Zayn with his loose hair.

“Been thinking about some things,” Niall says, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Think I maybe wasn’t too clear the last time we, erm, talked.” He remembers Louis holding his wrists above his head as he fucked into him with each snap of his hips, and his face feels hot.

“And you think _this_ is the best place to ‘talk’?” Louis asks with a note of disdain, like Niall’s a dumb student giving the wrong answer to all the questions.

“Guess not,” Niall says. The emcee for the night’s climbing back on stage to announce the results of the silent auction. He’s completely forgotten what worthy cause they’re supposed to be here for, only that their PR team told them it’d be good to have some superheroes in attendance. In the edges of his vision he sees that Liam’s snuck into an empty spot at Adele’s table and is earnestly explaining to her his love of opera. His tie’s unraveled and dipped into a glass of water, not that he notices.

“When you’ve time,” Niall says to Louis. “It don’t got to be now. You know to where to find me.” He laughs at his own joke, but it only makes him sound nervous.

“Sure,” Louis says with a fluid shrug, still not looking at him. Niall sighs and goes in search of more shrimp crostini. When he comes back Louis’ gone from his spot. He sees him only in glimpses and snatches for the rest of the night — Louis dancing with businessmen’s wives, Louis knocking back champagne and laughing merrily, Louis sharing stories of One Direction’s greatest exploits, gathering a small crowd that look all too put out when the night ends and Louis leaves them.

It goes like that for everything else too. They get radioed in the next morning to help out Little Mix with an infestation in Sector 4, where they’re dealing with their own recently opened wormhole. Everyone’s a bit hungover as they fight a swarm of locusts, and only Zayn’s in a good mood because he and Perrie are going for lunch after. “Get it, Zaynie,” Niall says, grinning at him when they’ve swatted the last locust down.

“You too, bro,” Zayn replies, trying to flatten a cowlick using his reflection in a storefront window.

“I’m trying,” Niall says, and he is. Louis knows Niall wants to talk to him, knows Niall’s got something on his mind. It’s not like Niall can tie him down to a chair and force him to listen. It’s got to be on Louis’ terms, because Niall was the one who panicked and ended things. Louis’ got to be the one this time to look at Niall and say yes.

Louis is over to their left chatting with Leigh-Anne, showing her his tattoos. There’s a new one, Niall realizes, as Louis rolls up his sleeve. A sans serif question mark tucked neatly into that otherwise feral garden of ink. Leigh-Anne’s touching it and saying something Niall can’t hear. Louis smiles at her, posture loose and easy the way it is with people he likes.

When he sees Niall staring, his spine stiffens and his shoulders draw up. Niall tries smiling at him, but Louis’ expression is wary.

He tries to find Louis when they return to their flat, but Louis holes himself up in his bedroom and doesn’t answer Niall knocking at his door. Niall tries again, a few hours later, and once more before they go to bed. He can hear Louis inside watching a movie with the volume turned up, but he doesn’t get up to let Niall in.

The next day Louis’ not at breakfast, even though Niall’s set out a plate for him with a proper fry-up. When he asks around, no one’s really sure where Louis’ gone until Olga comes by to check in on them. “He is in Paris with General Cowell,” she says. “One of the French admirals has come home from the spacefront, and there is a ceremony to honour him. Did he not mention this? Strange.”

“Not that strange,” Liam says, looking at Niall.

If Louis’ not around to eat his fry-up, then Niall shall have to do it for him. He shovels it into his mouth with a fork, and texts Louis a picture of the empty plate, licked clean.

_ate your brekkie for ya, mate. sorry!!!_

He’s given up on waiting for Louis’ reply when it comes in, thirteen hours later while Niall’s lying in bed restlessly reading about the latest skirmishes in space. 

_lost my appetite anyways_

 

:::

 

Two days after Louis returns from Paris, Niall shifts into a pale tabby cat and curls up on the front steps of their flat. George eyes him curiously but is too long used to the antics of One Direction’s resident shapeshifter to comment. Niall rests his chin on his paws and waits. The sky’s an ashy gray when he peers up, clouds flat like swirls of steamed milk. It might be winter soon, he thinks.

Some time later Louis comes jogging up the front steps. He’s got sunglasses and sandals on, despite the chill, and he’s balancing a Starbucks latte with a baggie containing a muffin. Niall meows and nuzzles at his ankles. 

Louis huffs out a sound of sudden amusement, calls out, “Oi, George, did you know there’s a stray out here?”

“Yes, Lance Corporal, it’s been there for a few hours now,” George replies serenely.

Louis sets down his latte and scratches Niall behind the ears. Niall purrs in contentment and butts his head against Louis’ palm. “Like that, do you,” Louis murmurs. “No collar, huh. Can’t imagine any of these millionaire twats we share a building with keeping a sweet thing like you.” He pets Niall as he talks, and Niall makes not so subtle attempts to leap into Louis’ arms.

“Fine, come home with me then,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Needy little bugger.” But he carries Niall into the lobby, leaving George to pick up his coffee and muffin. 

“I’ll keep these for you here, sir,” George says.

“Thanks,” Louis replies. “Be back soon.”

In the lift Niall wriggles out of Louis’ arms, drops to the floor, and changes back to human-form. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Louis says. “I should’ve known.”

“Hi,” Niall says, smiling at him. “I’d stall this lift so you’d have no choice but to talk to me, but, y’know. Me being massively claustrophobic doesn’t make that a good idea.” He watches Louis take in his nakedness and then forcibly pull his gaze away. Niall hums Rebel Rebel under his breath. When the lift reaches the penthouse and they’re at their apartment door, Louis repeatedly stabs the lock with his key, he’s so eager to get inside. 

Niall follows him, and slips into Louis’ room before Louis can shove him out. He pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of joggers lying on the floor. They smell like Louis, and this is both calming and terrifying in equal measures. He inhales and watches as Louis drops onto his bed, arms crossed, face stormy. Very reluctantly he removes his sunglasses.

“So what can I do for you, little mouse,” he says. 

“Well, the thing is,” Niall says, feeling the shape of things change, “I like you.”

“You like me?” Louis asks. Niall nods. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means I like you,” Niall says, searching for the right words. He wants to do this right. Knowing Louis he’s probably only got the one chance. Louis’ not someone who changes his mind easily. “I like your stupid hair and the way you never comb it and it somehow looks like you’ve been to a salon anyway. I like your stinky feet. I like the way your nose gets greasy especially after you eat too much fast food.”

“The fuck?”

He takes a shuddery breath, can’t look at Louis’ face right now or he’ll lose his nerve. “I like the way you look out for us in a fight,” he says. “I like the way you pretend you don’t try very hard, but you’re up at all hours, and our equipment’s never broken and our transport’s always ready. I like the way you stand up for us when General Cowell starts having a strop, and the way you secretly meet with Olga to compare notes and make sure we’re each getting stronger where we ought to.”

He stares at a fixed point beneath Louis’ chin. “I like the way you carry stray cats home,” he says. “The way you text your siblings so much I’ve seen you walk into poles cos you’re so busy on your phone. The way you know you can be mean sometimes, but you check in with your mates after you’ve had a row.” He can hear how he’s babbling, no doubt unattractively, but he’s unable to stop. “The way you eat my breakfasts even when they’re not very good. The way you held my hand on X-Factor. The way you go along with my plans. The way you have deeply incorrect opinions about Die Hard.” Niall looks up at Louis finally.

“Just,” he concludes, “I don’t want you to think I stopped shagging you cos I don’t like you. That’s all.”

Louis’ face is mottled red. He looks like he’s about to have a stroke. 

“We don’t need to have sex,” Niall says quickly. “I mean, I’d love to, if that’s what you still wanted.” He fidgets. “I love having sex with you, Lou. But you said last time—” he takes a breath, “you said we weren’t friends, and that, that messes me up a lot, cos I like you too much to be alright with losing you.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “So that’s my two cents. That’s what I came here to say. Sorry about pretending to be a cat and tricking you into petting me.”

He’s not actually sorry about the last part, and they both know it. Louis snorts, and with colour still clinging high on his cheeks, says, “Why’d you stop shagging me then? If supposedly you like me so much.”

“Do you remember,” Niall says slowly, “when I was in the hospital? After that fight nearly tore off my knee.”

Louis sucks in a breath. “Course I do.”

“I thought I’d lose my leg,” Niall admits. “These days I reckon Harry’s good enough that if it happened again he’d patch me up until we could get to the hospital. But back then, when we were still so new to this—” he struggles with the memory, “I thought I was done for.”

“But you weren’t,” Louis says, strangled-sounding. “The doctors got you that robot knee in the end.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, smiling, “thank god, right?” He slaps his robot knee; good job, robot knee. “But, like, after the surgery you started being so distant, not wanting to hang out anymore when we used to be so close, and finally I realized. I did lose something in that hospital. I lost my best mate.”

“Rather think that’s less important than losing your fucking leg,” Louis says acidly. 

“I’m not saying there has to be a comparison,” Niall says. “All of it is shit when it happens. I learned a lot from it too,” he says, licking at his dry lips. “Chiefly, that I don’t want it to happen again.”

“I took advantage of you in that hospital,” Louis says bluntly. Niall looks at him and sees how Louis has got his fists bunched up, how his face has turned not only red, but pained and guilty as well, like Niall’s hurting him by talking about this. It’s not an expression he enjoys seeing on Louis, or anyone that he loves, and his stomach twists again. 

“No you didn’t,” Niall retorts. “You were at my side practically every day.” It was only after, when he was discharged, that Louis started being cold.

“I kissed you,” Louis snaps.

Niall’s mouth snaps open and shut. “Oh,” he says. “I thought that — I thought that was a dream.” The slickness of Louis’ mouth on his, the solid pressure of his arms holding Niall steady, the warmth of it eating through the pain.

“You were so drugged up, I bet the Uninvited could’ve bombed London and you’d have giggled through it,” Louis says wildly. “But that’s my point, innit. I snogged you when you were clearly out of your mind, and even before that — god, Niall, I put you into that fight.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I knew you weren’t ready but I didn’t stop you cos I wanted to — I wanted to fight by your side. So I said nothing, was a shit leader, and you got your knee crushed.”

“Lou, it doesn’t matter anymore, it was ages ago—”

“It’s all I ever do,” Louis interrupts, well-mired in his self-pity now. “I take advantage of you. Even this. You just wanted someone patient and friendly to punch your v-card, and I made it into this messy _thing_ cos of what I feel.” The blood’s draining from Louis’ face; Niall can see the blue veins in his throat, around his eyes. “I think you were right the first time,” Louis says. “This isn’t a good idea.”

There’s a version of Niall that would have accepted that. Would have been cowed by Louis, done whatever Louis wanted. But Niall knows things about himself now, knows things he didn’t years ago, months ago, weeks ago, when this thing first began, the first time he crawled into Louis’ bed and ached for a kiss. 

“I don’t want a good idea,” Niall says. “I’d rather have you.”

Louis shivers. 

“Move over,” Niall says, and he crawls onto the bed with Louis, shoving him against the wall so that Niall can slot them in together. Louis is breathing raggedly, and his skin is cold, commandeered by fields of gooseflesh. He’s terrified, Niall realizes, so he takes Louis’ hands and kisses him. Kisses him soft and sweet, kisses him with their bodies pressed chest-to-chest, their fingers clasped, until he feels Louis shudder again, feels the fight go out of him.

“Niall,” Louis breathes, that’s all he says. Just _Niall_ , and it’s enough. It’s a start.

Niall feels soupy and languid, happy down to the joints of his toes. “I could use a nap,” he says, yawning into Louis’ face as he rolls them over so he can pull the duvet on top.

“Cat-form rubbing off on you?” Louis asks, stretching tentatively underneath him, slender eyebrows arched.

“Yep,” Niall replies. After he’s finished wrestling with the duvet, he glances over and sees the oils Louis bought for him clustered on the nightstand, their caps twisted off and lying to the sides. He grabs the closest one — lavender, says the label — and starts dabbing it onto his wrists. He dabs them onto Louis’ too, taking his time, and marvels at how Louis’ pulse quickens.

“For sweet dreams,” Niall says.

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Louis complains. “I’m the one who bought it.”

When they’re all settled in and smelling like a fancy hotel loo, he falls asleep quickly in Louis’ arms, with Louis pressing absent, still-shy kisses into his hair. He falls into sleep like a stone dropping into an ocean. His dreams are of animals, of speed and strength and violence, animal minds and animal bodies. His dreams are of Ireland, of home, of his family waiting to see him. His dreams are of museums one day that’ll be full of the wars they’ve fought and the people they’ve lost. His dreams are of Louis snoring open-mouthed beside him, drooling onto his own chin, and when Niall wakes up, that’s the only part he’ll remember, that’s not a dream at all.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
